THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


JOHN  RANDOLPH  HAYNES 

AND  DORA  HAYNES  FOUNDATION 

COLLECTION 


WII.I.V    1,'KIU.Y   AND  THE   COOLEEN    BAWN. 


WILLY  REILLY 


AND 


HIS  DEAR  COOLEEN  BAWN. 


BY 

WILLIAM    CARLETON, 


"  Oh,  rise  up,  Willy  Reilly,  and  come  alongst  with  me, 
I  mean  for  to  go  with  you,  and  leave  this  counterie, 
To  leave  my  father's  dwelling,  his  houses  and  free  lands  : — 
And  away  goes  Willy  Reilly  and  his  fair  Cooleen  Bawn."— Ballad. 

11  Ah  me  !  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  in  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth." — Shakspeare. 


WITH    EIGHT    ILLUSTRATIONS 

By  J.    D.    HEATH   and   THOMAS   GOODMAN. 


BOSTON  : 

D.    O'LOUGHLIN, 

CATHOLIC     BOOKSELLER, 

630  Washington  Street. 


A  A 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


MOST  of  our  Irish  readers  must  be  aware  that  the  fol- 
lowing story  is  founded  upon  an  incident  in  the 
history  of  the  affections,  which,  ever  since  its  occurrence, 
has  occupied  a  large  portion  of  popular  interest.  From  the 
very  first  discovery  of  their  attachment,  the  loves  of  "  Willy 
Reilly"  and  his  "  Fair  Cooleen  Bawn"  became  celebrated, 
and  were  made  the  burden  of  many  a  rude  ballad  through- 
out Ireland.  With  the  exception,  however,  of  the  one 
which  we  subjoin,  they  have  all  nearly  disappeared  ;  but 
that  production,  rude  as  it  is,  has  stood  its  ground,  and  is 
permanently  embodied  as  a  favorite  in  the  ballad  poetry  of 
the  people.  It  is  not,  though  couched  in  humble  and  un- 
pretending language,  without  a  good  deal  of  rustic  vigor, 
and,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  a  kind  of  inartis- 
tic skill,  furnished  either  by  chance  or  nature — it  is  difficult 
to  determine  which.  We  are  of  opinion,  however,  that  it 
owes  a  great  portion  of  its  permanent  popularity  to  feelings 
which  have  been  transmitted  to  the  people,  arising  not  so 
much  from  the  direct  interest  of  the  incidents  embodied  in 
it,  as  from  the  political  spirit  of  the  times  in  which  they  oc- 
curred. At  that  unhappy  period  the  Penal  Laws  were  in 
deadly  and  terrible  operation  ;  and  we  need  not  be  sur- 
prised that  a  young  and  handsome  Catholic  should  earn  a 
boundless  popularity,  especially  among  those  of  his  own 
creed,  by  the  daring  and  resolute  act  of  taking  away  a  Pro- 
testant heiress — the  daughter  of  a  persecutor — and  whose 
fame,  from  her  loveliness  and  accomplishments,  had  already 
become  proverbial  among  the  great  body  of  the  Irish  peo- 
ple, and,  indeed,  throughout  all  classes.  It  was  looked 
upon  as  a  kind  of  triumph  over  the  persecutors  ;  and,  in 
this  instance,  Cupid  himself  seemed  to  espouse  the  cause  of 
the  beads  and  rosarv,  and  to  become  a  tight  little  Catholic. 

'    76458S 


6  PREFACE    TO    THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

The  character  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  (a  fictitious  name)  is 
drawn  from  traditions  which  were  some  time  ago  floating 
among  the  people,  but  which  are  fast  fading  out  of  the  pop- 
ular mind.  The  mode  of  his  death,  and  its  concomitants, 
the  author  has  often  heard  told  in  his  youth,  around  the 
hob,  during  the  long  winter  evenings.  With  respect  to  the 
description  of  the  state  of  the  unhappy  Catholics,  however  I 
may  have  diminished,  I  have  not  exaggerated  it ;  and  I  trust 
that  I  have  done  ample  justice  to  the  educated  Protestants 
of  the  day,  many  of  whom  not  only  opposed  the  Govern- 
ment openly  and  directly — whose  object  was  extermination 
by  the  withering  operation  of  oppressive  laws — but  threw 
up  their  commissions  as  justices  of  the  peace,  and  refused  to 
become  the  tools  and  abettors  of  religious  persecution.  To 
such  noble-minded  men  I  trust  I  have  rendered  ample  jus- 
tice. The  following  is  the  celebrated  ballad  of  "  Willy 
Reilly,"  which  is  still  sung,  and  will  long  continue  to  be 
sung,  at  many  a  hearth  in  Ireland  : 

"  Oh  !  rise  up  Willy  Reilly,  and  come  alongst  with  me, 
I  mean  for  to  go  with  you  and  leave  this  countrie, 
To  leave  my  father's  dwelling,  his  houses  and  free  lands — " 
And  away  goes  Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Baton. 

They  go  by  hill  and  mountains,  and  by  yon  lonesome  plain, 
Through  shady  groves  and  valleys  all  dangers  to  refrain  ; 
But  her  father  followed  after  with  a  well-arm'd  chosen  band, 
And  taken  was  poor  Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Baron. 

It's  home  ihen  she  was  taken,  and  in  her  closet  bound, 
Poor  Reilly  all  in  Sligo  jail  lay  on  the  stony  ground, 
Till  at  the  bar  of  justice  before  the  Judge  he'd  stand, 
For  nothing  but  the  stealing  of  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

"  Now  in  the  cold,  cold  iron,   my  hands  and  feet  are  bound, 
I'm  handcuffed  like  a  murderer,  and  tied  unto  the  ground  ; 
But  all  this  toil  and  slavery  I'm  willing  for  to  stand, 
Still  hoping  to  be  succored  by  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawn.*1 

The  jailer's  son  to  Reilly  goes,  and  thus  to  him  did  say, 
"  Oh  !  get  up,  Willy  Reilly,  you  must  appear  this  day, 

For  great  Squire  Folliard's  anger  you  never  can  withstand  ; 
I'm  afear'd  you'll  suffer  sorely  for  your  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 

"  This  is  the  news,  young  Reilly,  last  night  that  I  did  hear, 
The  lady's  oath  will  hang  you,  or  else  will  set  you  clear." 

"  If  that  be  so,"  says  Reilly,  "  her  pleasure  I  will  stand, 
Still  hoping  to  be  succored  by  my  dear  Cooleen  Eawn." 


PREFACE    TO    THE  FIRST  EDITION.  J 

Now  Willy's  drest  from  top  to  toe  all  in  a  suit  of  green, 
His  hair  hangs  o'er  his  shoulders  most  glorious  to°be  seen  ; 
He's  tall  and  straight  and  comely  as  any  could  be  found, 
He's  fit  for  Folliard's  daughter,  was  she  heiress  to  a  crown. 

The  Judge  he  said,  "  This  lady  being  in  her  tender  youth, 
If  Reilly  has  deluded  her,  she  will  declare  the  truth." 

^  Then,  like  a  moving  beauty  bright,  before  him  she  did  stand. 

"  You're  welcome  there  my  heart's  delight  and  dear  Cooleen  Bawn!" 

"  Oh,  gentlemen,"  Squire  Folliard  said,  "  with  pity  look  on  me, 
This  villain  came  amongst  us  to  disgrace  our  family, 
And  by  his  base  contrivances  this  villany  was  planned  ; 
If  I  don't  get  satisfaction  I  will  quit  this  Irish  land." 

The  lady  with  a  tear  began,  and  thus  replied  she, 
"  The  fault  is  none  of  Reilly's,  the  blame  lies  all  on  me  : 
I  forced  him  for  to  leave  his  place  and  come  along  with  me  ; 
I  loved  him  out  of  measure,  which  has  wrought  our  destiny." 

Then  out  bespoke  the  noble  Fox.  at  the  table  he  stood  by, 

Oh,  gentlemen,  consider  on  this  extremity, 

To  hang  a  man  for  love  is  a  murder  you  may  see, 

So  spare  the  life  of  Reilly,  let  him  leave  this  countrie." 

"  Good,  my  lord,  he  stole  from  her  her  diamonds  and  her  rings, 
Gold  watch  and  silver  buckles,  and  many  precious  things, 
Which  cost  me  in  bright  guineas,  more  than  five  hundred  pounds, 
I  will  have  the  life  of  Reilly  should  I  lose  ten  thousand  pounds." 

"  Good,  my  lord,  I  gave  them  him  as  tokens  of  true  love  ; 
And  when  we  are  a-parting  I  will  them  all  remove  : 
If  you  have  got  them,  Reilly,  pray  send  them  home  to  me  ; 
They're  poor  compared  to  that  true  heart  which  I  have  given  to  thee. 

"  There  is  a  ring  among  them  I  allow  yourself  to  wear, 
With  thirty  locket  diamonds  well  set  in  silver  fair  ; 
And  as  a  true-love  token  wear  it  on  your  right  hand, 
That  you  may  think  on  my  broken  heart  when  you're  in  a  foreign 
land." 

Then  out  spoke  noble  Fox,  "  You  may  let  the  prisoner  go, 
The  lady's  oath  has  cleared  him,  as  the  Jury  all  may  know  : 
She  has  released  her  own  true  love,  she  has  renewed  his  name, 
May  her  honor  bright  gain  high  estate,  and  her  offspring  rise  to 
fame." 

This  ballad  I  found  in  a  state  of  wretched  disorder.  It 
passed  from  one  individual  to  another  by  ear  alone  ;  and 
the  inconsecutive  position  of  the  verses,  occasioned  by  inac- 
curacy of  memory  and  ignorance,  has  sadly  detracted  from 
its  genuine  force.     As  it  existed  in  the  oral  versions  of  the 


8  PREFACE    TO    THE  FIRST  EDITIOX. 

populace,  the  narrative  was  grossly  at  variance  with  the  reg- 
ular progress  of  circumstances  which  characterize  a  trial  of 
any  kind,  but  especially  such  a  trial  as  that  which  it  under- 
takes to  describe.  The  individuals  concerned  in  it,  for  in- 
stance, are  made  to  speak  out  of  place  ;  and  it  would  ap- 
pear, from  all  the  versions  that  I  have  heard,  as  if  every 
stanza  was  assigned  its  position  by  lot.  This  fact,  how- 
ever, I  have  just  accounted  for  and  remedied,  by  having 
restored  them  to  their  original  places,  so  that  the  vigorous 
but  rustic  bard  is  not  answerable  for  the  confusion  to  which 
unprinted  poetry,  sung  by  an  uneducated  people,  is  liable. 
As  the  ballad  now  stands,  the  character  of  the  poet  is  satis- 
factorily vindicated  ;  and  the  disorder  which  crept  in  during 
the  course  of  time,  though  strongly  calculated  to  weaken  its 
influence,  has  never  been  able  to  injure  its  fame.  This  is  a 
high  honor  to  its  composer,  and  proves  him  well  worthy  of 
the  popularity  which,  under  such  adverse  circumstances, 
has  taken  so  firm  a  hold  of  the  present  feeling,  and  survived 
so  long. 

The  author  trusts  that  he  has  avoided,  as  far  as  the  truth- 
ful treatment  of  his  subject  would  enable  him,  the  expres- 
sion of  any  political  sentiment  calculated  to  give  offence  to 
any  party — an  attempt  cf  singular  difficulty  in  a  country  so 
miserably  divided  upon  religious  feeling  as  this.  The  expe- 
rience of  centuries  should  teach  statesmen  and  legislators 
that  persecution,  on  account  uf  creed  and  conscience,  is  not 
only  bad  feeling,  but  worse  policy  ;  and  if  the  author,  in 
these  pages,  has  succeeded  in  conveying  this  self-evident 
truth  to  his  readers,  he  will  rest  satisfied  with  that  result, 
however  severely  the  demerits  of  his  work  may  be  censured 
upon  purely  literary  grounds.  One  thing  may  be  said  in  his 
defence — that  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  dissociate  the 
loves  of  this  celebrated  couple  from  the  condition  of  the 
country,  and  the  operation  of  the  merciless  laws  which  pre- 
vailed against  the  Catholics  in  their  day.  Had  the  lovers  both 
been  Catholics,  or  both  been  Protestants,  this  might  have  been 
avoided ;  but,  as  political  and  religious  matters  then  stood, 
to  omit  the  state  and  condition  of  society  which  resulted 
from  them,  and  so  deeply  affected  their  fate,  would  be  some- 
what like  leaving  the  character  of  Hamlet  out  of  the  tragedy. 

As  the  work  was  first  written,  I  described  a  good  many  of 
the  Catholic  priests  of  the  day  as  disguised  in  female  appa- 


PREFACE    TO    THE  FIRST  EDITION.  9 

rel  ;  but  on  discovering  that  there  exists  an  ecclesiastical 
regulation  or  canon  forbidding  any  priest,  under  whatever 
persecution  or  pressure,  to  assume  such  apparel  for  the  pur- 
pose of  disguising  his  person  or  saving  his  life,  I,  of  course, 
changed  that  portion  of  the  matter,  although  a  layman  might 
well  be  pardoned  for  his  ignorance  of  an  ecclesiastical 
statute,  which,  except  in  very  rare  cases,  can  be  known  only 
to  ecclesiastics  themselves.  I  retain  one  instance,  however, 
of  this  description,  which  I  ascribe  to  Hennessy.  the  de- 
graded friar,  who  is  a  historical  character,  and  who  wrought 
a  vast  weight  of  evil,  as  an  informer,  against  the  Catholic 
priesthood  of  Ireland,  both  regular  and  secular. 

With  respect  to  the  family  name  of  the  heroine  and  her 
father,  I  have  adopted  both  the  popular  pronunciation  and 
orthography,  instead  of  the  real.  I  give  it  simply  as  I 
found  it  in  the  ballad,  and  as  I  always  heard  it  pronounced 
by  the  people  ;  in  the  first  place,  from  reluctance,  by  wri- 
ting it  accurately,  to  give  offence  to  that  portion  of  this 
highly  respectable  family  which  still  exists  ;  and,  in  the 
next,  from  a  disinclination  to  disturb  the  original  impres- 
sions made  on  the  popular  mind  by  the  ballad  and  the 
traditions  associated  with  it.  So  far  as  the  traditions  go, 
there  was  nothing  connected  with  the  heroine  of  which  her 
descendants  need  feel  ashamed.  If  it  had  been  otherwise, 
her  memory  never  would  have  been  enshrined  in  the  affec- 
tions of  the  Irish  people  for  such  an  unusual  period  of  time. 

Dublin,  February,  1855. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


I  AM  agreeably  called  upon  by  my  bookseller  to  prepare 
for  a  Second  Edition  of  "  Willy  Reilly."  This  is  at  all 
times  a  pleasing  call  upon  an  author  ;  and  it  is  so  especially 
to  me,  inasmuch  as  the  first  Edition  was  sold  at  the  fashion- 
able, but  unreasonable,  price  of  a  guinea  and  a  half — a  price 
which,  in  this  age  of  cheap  literature,  is  almost  fatal  to  the 
sale  of  any  three-volume  novel,  no  matter  what  may  be  its 
merits.  With  respect  to  "Willy  Reilly,"  it  may  be  neces- 
sary to  say  that  I  never  wrote  any  work  of  the  same  extent 
in  so  short  a  time,  or  with  so  much  haste.  Its  popularity, 
however,  has  been  equal  to  that  of  any  other  of  my  produc- 
tions ;  and  the  reception  which  it  has  experienced  from  the 
ablest  public  and  professional  critics  of  the  day  has  far 
surpassed  my  expectations.  I  accordingly  take  this  oppor- 
tunity of  thanking  them  most  sincerely  for  the  favorable 
verdict  which  they  have  generously  passed  upon  it,  as  I  do 
for  their  kindness  to  my  humble  efforts  for  the  last  twenty- 
eight  years.  Nothing,  indeed,  can  be  a  greater  encourage- 
ment to  a  literary  man,  to  a  novel  writer,  in  fact,  than  the 
reflection  that  he  has  an  honest  and  generous  tribunal  to 
encounter.  If  he  be  a  quack  or  an  impostor,  they  will  at 
once  detect  him  ;  but  if  he  exhibit  human  nature  and  truth- 
ful character  in  his  pages,  it  matters  not  whether  he  goes  to 
his  bookseller's  in  a  coach,  or  plods  there  humbly,  and  on 
foot  ;  they  will  forget  everything  but  the  value  and  merit  of 
what  he  places  before  them.  On  this  account  it  is  that  I 
reverence  and  respect  them  ;  and  indeed  I  ought  to  do  so, 
for  I  owe  them  the  gratitude  of  a  pretty  long  literary  life. 

Concerning  this  Edition,  I  must  say  something.  I  have 
already  stated  that  it  was  written  rapidly  and  in  a  hurry. 
On  reading  it  over  for  correction,  I  was  struck  in  my  cooler 
moments  by  many  defects   in   it,  which  were  kindly  over- 


PREFACE    TO    THE   SECOND  EDITION.  II 

looked,  or,  perhaps,  not  noticed  at  all.  To  myself,  how- 
ever, who  had  been  brooding  over  this  work  for  a  long  time, 
they  at  once  became  obvious.  I  have  accordingly  added  an 
underplot  of  affection  between  Fergus  Reilly — mentioned  as 
a  distant  relative  of  my  hero — and  the  Cooleen  Bawns  maid, 
Ellen  Connor.  In  doing  so,  I  have  not  disturbed  a  single 
incident  in  the  work  ;  and  the  reader  who  may  have  pe- 
rused the  first  Edition,  if  he  should  ever — as  is  not  unfre- 
quently  the  case — peruse  this  second  one,  will  certainly 
wonder  how  the  additions  were  made.  That,  however,  is 
the  secret  of  the  author,  with  which  they  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  enjoy  the  book,  if  they  can  enjoy  it. 

With  respect  to  the  O'Reilly  name  and  family,  I  have 
consulted  my  distinguished  friend — and  I  am  proud  to  call 
him  so — John  0' Donovan,  Esq.,  LL.D.,  M.R.I. A.,  who, 
with  the  greatest  kindness,  placed  the  summary  of  the  his- 
tory of  that  celebrated  family  at  my  disposal.  This  learned 
gentleman  is  an  authority  beyond  all  question.  With  re- 
spect to  Ireland — her  language — her  old  laws — her  history 
— her  antiquities — her  archaeology — her  topography,  and  the 
genealogy  of  her  families,  he  is  a  perfect  miracle,  as  is  his 
distinguished  fellow-laborer  in  the  same  field,  Eugene 
Curry.  Two  such  men — and,  including  Dr.  Petrie,  three 
such  men — Ireland  never  has  produced,  and  never  can  again 
— for  this  simple  reason,  that  they  will  have  left  nothing 
after  them  for  their  successors  to  accomplish.  To  Eugene 
Curry  I  am  indebted  for  the  principal  fact  upon  which  my 
novel  of  the  "  Tithe  Proctor"  was  written — the  able  intro- 
duction to  which  was  printed  verbatim  from  a  manuscript 
with  which  he  kindly  furnished  me.  The  following  is  Dr. 
O'Donovan's  clear  and  succinct  history  of  the  O'Reilly 
family  from  the  year  435  until  the  present  time  : 


"  The  ancestors  of  the  family  of  O'Reilly  had  been  celebrated  in 
Irish  history  long  before  the  establishment  of  surnames  in  Ireland. 
In  the  year  435  their  ancestor,  Duach  Galach,  king  of  Connaught, 
was  baptized  by  St.  Patrick  on  the  banks  of  Loch  Scola,  and  they  had 
remained  Christians  of  the  old  Irish  Church,  which  appears  to  have 
been  peculiar  in  its  mode  of  tonsure,  and  of  keeping  Easter  (and, 
since  the  twelfth  century,  firm  adherents  to  the  religion  of  the  Pope, 
till  Dowell  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  the  father  of  the  present  head  of  the  name, 
quarrelling  with  Father  Dowling,  of  Stradbally,  turned  Protestant, 
about  the  year  iSool 


12  PREFACE    TO    THE   SECGXD   EDITION. 

"  The  ancestor,  after  whom  they  took  the  family  name,  was  Reillagh, 
who  was  chief  of  his  sept,  and  flourished  about  the  year  qSi. 

"From  this  period  they  are  traced  in  the  IrishAnnals  through  a 
long  line  of  powerful  chieftains  of  East  Breifny  (County  Cavan),  who 
succeeded  each  other,  according  to  the  law  of  Tanistry,  till  the  year 
1585,  when  two  rival  chieftains  of  the  name,  Sir  John  O'Reilly  and 
Edmund  O'Reilly,  appeared  in  Dublin,  at  the  parliament  summoned 
by  Perrot.  Previously  to  this,  John  O'Reilly,  finding  his  party  weak, 
had  repaired  to  England,  in  15S3,  to  solicit  Queen  Elizabeth's  interest, 
and  had  been  kindly  received  at  Court,  and'mvested  with  the  order  of 
Knighthood,  and  promised  to  be  made  Earl,  whereupon  he  returned 
home  with  letters  from  the  Queen  to  the  Lord  Deputy  and  Council  of 
Ireland,  instructing  them  to  support  him  in  his  claims.  His  uncle, 
Edmund,  of  Kilnacrott,  would  have  succeeded  Hugh  Connallagh 
O'Reilly,  the  father  of  Sir  John,  according  to  the  Irish  law  of  Tanis- 
try, but  he  was  set  aside  by  Elizabeth's  government,  and  Sir  John  set 
up  as  O'Reilly  in  his  place.  Sir  John  being  settled  in  the  chieftain- 
ship cf  East  Breifny,  entered  into  certain  articles  of  agreement  with 
Sir  John  Perrot,  the  Lord  Deputy,  and  the  Council  of  Ireland,  whereby 
he  agreed  to  surrender  the  principality  of  East  Breifny  to  the  Queen, 
on  condition  of  obtaining  it  again  from  the  crown  in  copite  by  English 
tenure,  and  the  same  to  be  ratified  to  him  and  the  heirs  male  of  his 
body.  In  consequence  of  this  agreement,  and  with  the  intent  of 
abolishing  the  tanistic  succession,  he,  on  the  last  day  of  August,  1590, 
perfected  a  deed  of  feofment,  entailing  thereby  the  seignory  of  Breifny 
(O'Reilly)  on  his  eldest  son,  Malmore  (Myles),  surnamed  Alainn  (the 
comely),  afterwards  known  as  the  Queen  s  0' Reilly. 

"  Notwithstanding  these  transactions,  Sir  John  O'Reilly  soon  after 
joined  in  the  rebellion  of  Hugh,  Earl  of  Tyrone,  and  died  on  the  first 
of  June,  1596.  After  his  death  the  Earl  of  Tyrone  set  up  his  second 
brother,  Philip,  as  the  O'Reilly,  and  the  government  of  Elizabeth  sup- 
ported the  claim  of  Sir  John's  son,  Malmore,  the  comely,  in  oppo- 
sition to  Philip,  and  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott.  But  Malmore,  the 
Queen's  O'Reilly,  was  slain  by  Tyrone  in  the  great  battle  of  the 
Yellow  Ford,  near  Benburb,  on  the  14th  of  August,  1598,  and  the 
Irish  of  Ulster  agreed  to  establish  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott  as  the 
O'Reilly. 

"  The  lineal  descendants  of  Sir  John  passed  into  the  French  service, 
and  are  now  totally  unknown,  and  probably  extinct.  The  descend- 
ants of  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott  have  been  far  more  prolific  and  more 
fortunate.  His  senior  representative  is  my  worthy  old  friend  Myles 
John  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  Heath  House,  Emo.  Queen's  Co.,  and  from 
him  are  also  descended  the  O'Reillys  of  Thomastown  Castle,  in  the 
County  of  Louth,  the  Counts  O'Reilly  of  Spain,  the  O'Reillys  of  Bel- 
trasna,  in  Westmeath,  and  the  Reillys  of  Scarva  House,  in  the  County 
ot  Down. 

"  Edmund  of  Kilnacrott  had  a  son  John  who  had  a  son  Brian,  by 
Mary,  daughter  of  the  Baron  of  Dunsany,  who  had  a  famous  son 
Malmore,  commonly  called  Myles  the  Slasher.  This  Myles  was  an  able 
military  leader  during  the  civil  wars  of  1641,  and  showed  prodigies  of 
valor  during  the  years  1641,  1642,  and  1643  ;  but,  in  1644.  being  en- 


PREFACE    TO    THE   SECOND  EDITION.  13 

camped  at  Granard,  in  the  County  of  Longford,  with  Lord  Castle- 
haven,  who  ordered  him  to  proceed  with  a  chosen  detachment  of 
horse  to  defend  the  bridge  of  Finea  against  the  Scots,  then  bearing 
down  on  the  main  army  with  a  very  superior  force,  Myles  was  slain 
at  the  head  of  his  troops,  fighting  bravely  on  the  middle  of  the  bridge. 
Tradition  adds,  that  during  this  action  he  encountered  the  colonel  of 
the  Scots  in  single  combat,  who  laid  open  his  cheek  with  a  blow  of 
his  sword  ;  but  Myles,  whose  jaws  were  stronger  than  a  smith's  vice, 
held  fast  the  Scotchman's  sword  between  his  teeth  till  he  cut  him 
down,  but  the  main  body  of  the  Scots  pressing  upon  him,  he  was  left 
dead  on  the  bridge. 

"  This  Myles  the  Slasher  was  the  father  of  Colonel  John  O'Reilly, 
of  Ballymacadd,  in  the  County  Meath,  who  was  elected  Knight  of  the 
Shire  for  the  County  of  Cavan,  in  the  parliament  held  at  Dublin  on 
the  7th  of  May,  16S9.  He  raised  a  regiment  of  dragoons,  at  his  own 
expense,  for  the  service  of  James  II.,  and  assisted  at  the  siege  of 
Londonderry  in  1689.  He  had  two  engagements  with  Colonel  Wol- 
sley,  the  commander  of  the  garrison  of  Belturbet,  whom  he  signally 
defeated.  He  fought  at  the  battles  of  the  Boyne  and  Aughrim,  and 
was  included  in  the  articles  of  capitulation  of  Limerick,  whereby  he, 
preserved  his  property,  and  was  allowed  to  carry  arms. 

"  Of  the  eldest  son  of  this  Colonel  John  O'Reilly,  who  left  issue, 
my  friend  Myles  J.  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  is  now  the  senior  representative. 

"  From  Colonel  John  O'Reilly's  youngest  son,  Thomas  O'Reilly,  of 
Beltrasna,  was  descended  Count  Alexander  O'Reilly,  of  Spain,  who 
took  Algiers  !  immortalized  by  Byron.  This  Alexander  was  born 
near  Oldcastle,  in  the  County  Meath,  in  the  year  1722.  He  was  Gen- 
eralissimo of  his  Catholic  Majesty's  forces,  and  Inspector-General  of 
the  Infantry,  etc.,  etc.  In  the  year  1786  he  employed  the  Chevalier 
Thomas  O'Gorman  to  compile  for  him  a  history  of  the  House  of 
O'Reilly,  for  which  he  paid  O'Gorman  the  sum  of  .£1,137  iar.,  the 
original  receipt  for  which  I  have  in  my  possession. 

"  From  this  branch  of  the  O'Reilly  family  was  also  descended  the 
illustrious  Andrew  Count  O'Reilly,  who  died  at  Vienna  in  1832,  at  the 
age  of  92.  He  was  General  of  Cavalry  in  the  Austrian  service.  This 
distinguished  man  filled  in  succession  all  the  military  grades  in  the 
Austrian  service,  with  the  exception  of  that  of  Field  Marshal,  and  was 
called  by  Napoleon  '  le  respectable  General  O'Reilly.' 

"  The  eldest  son  of  Myles  J.  O'Reilly,  Esq.,  is  a  young  gentleman 
of  great  promise  and  considerable  fortune.  His  rencontre  with  Lord 
Clements  (now  Earl  of  Leitrim)  has  been  not  long  since  prominently 
before  the  public,  and  in  a  manner  which  does  justice  to  our  old  party 
quarrels  !  Both  are,  however,  worthy  of  their  high  descent ;  and  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  they  will  soon  become  good  friends,  as  they  are  both 
young,  and  remarkable  for  benevolence  and  love  of  fatherland." 

As  this  has  been  considered  by  some  persons  as  a  histori- 
cal novel,  although  I  really  never  intended  it  as  such,  it  may 
be  necessary  to  give  the  reader  a  more  distinct  notion  of  the 
period   in   which   the  incidents   recorded   in   it  took  place. 


U  PREFACE    TO    THE   SECOXD   EDITIOX. 

The  period  then  was  about  that  of  1745,  when  Lord  Ches- 
terfield was  Governor-General  of  Ireland.  This  nobleman, 
though  an  infidel,  was  a  bigot,  and  a  decided  anti-Catholic  ; 
nor  do  I  think  that  the  temporary  relaxation  of  the  penal 
laws  against  Catholics  was  anything  else  than  an  apprehen- 
sion on  the  part  of  England  that  the  claims  of  the  Pretender 
might  be  supported  by  the  Irish  Catholics,  who  then,  so 
depressed  and  persecuted,  must  have  naturally  felt  a  strong 
interest  in  having  a  prince  who  professed  their  own  relig- 
ion placed  upon  the  English  throne.  Strange  as  it  may  ap- 
pear, however,  and  be  the  cause  of  it  what  it  may,  the  Cath- 
olics of  Ireland,  as  a  people  and  as  a  body,  took  no  part 
whatever  in  supporting  him.  Under  Lord  Chesterfield's 
administration,  one  of  the  most  shocking  and  unnatural  Acts 
of  Parliament  ever  conceived  passed  into  a  law.  This  was 
the  making  void  and  null  all  intermarriages  between  Cath- 
olic and  Protestant  that  should  take  place  after  the  1st  of 
May,  1746.  Such  an  Act  was  a  renewal  of  the  Statute  of 
Kilkenny,  and  it  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  to  Willy 
Reilly  and  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn  that  he  had  the  consola- 
tion of  having  been  transported  for  seven  years.  Had  her 
father  even  given  his  consent  at  an  earlier  period,  the  laws 
of  the  land  would  have  rendered  their  marriage  impossible. 
This  cruel  law,  however,  was  overlooked  ;  for  it  need  hardly 
be  said  that  it  was  met  and  spurned  not  only  by  human  rea- 
son, but  by  human  passion.  In  truth,  the  strong  and  influ- 
ential of  both  religions  treated  it  with  contempt,  and  tram- 
pled on  it  without  any  dread  of  the  consequences.  By  the 
time  of  his  return  from  transportation,  it  was  merely  a  dead 
letter,  disregarded  and  scorned  by  both  parties,  and  was  no 
obstruction  to  either  the  marriage  or  the  happiness  of  him- 
self and  his  dear  Cooleen  Ban';:. 

I  know  not  that  there  is  any  thing  else  I  can  add  to  this 
preface,  unless  the  fact  that  I  have  heard  several  other  bal- 
lads upon  the  subject  of  these  celebrated  lovers — all  of  the 
same  tendency,  and  all  in  the  highest  praise  of  the  beauty 
and  virtues  of  the  fair  Cooleen  Bawn.  Their  utter  vulgarity, 
however,  precludes  them  from  a  place  in  these  pages.  And, 
by  the  way,  talking  of  the  law  which  passed  under  the  ad- 
ministration of  Lord  Chesterfield  against  intermarriages,  it 
is  not  improbable  that  the  elopement  of  Reilly  and  the  Coo- 
leen  Bawn,  in  addition  to  the  execution  of  the  man  to  whom 


PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND   EDITION.  15 

I  have  given  the  name  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  may  have 
introduced  it  in  a  spirit  of  reaction,  not  only  against  the 
consequences  of  the  elopement,  but  against  the  baronet's 
ignominious  death.  Thus,  in  every  point  from  which  we 
can  view  it,  the  fate  of  this  celebrated  couple  invoked  not 
only  popular  feeling,  but  national  importance. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  trace  with  any  accuracy  or  satis- 
faction that  portion  or  branch  of  the  O'Reilly  family  to 
which  my  hero  belonged.  The  dreary  lapse  of  time,  and 
his  removal  from  the  country,  have  been  the  means  of 
sweeping  into  oblivion  every  thing  concerning  him,  with  the 
exception  of  his  love  for  Miss  Folliard,  and  its  strange  con- 
sequences. Even  tradition  is  silent  upon  that  part  of  the 
subject,  and  I  fear  that  any  attempt  to  throw  light  upon  it 
must  end  only  in  disappointment.  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  the  Counsellor  Fox,  who  acted  as  his  advocate,  was 
never  himself  raised  to  the  bench  ;  but  that  that  honor  was 
reserved  for  his  son,  who  was  an  active  judge  a  little  before 
the  close  of  the  last  century. 

W.  CARLETON. 

Dublin,  December,  1856. 


WILLY    RE  ILLY. 

CHAPTER    I. 

AN    ADVENTURE    AND    AN    ESCAPE. 

SPIRIT  of  George  Prince  Regent  James,  Esq.,  forgive 
me  this  commencement  !  * 
It  was  one  evening  at  the  close  of  a  September  month  and 
a  September  day  that  two  equestrians  might  be  observed 
passing  along  one  of  those  old  and  lonely  Irish  roads  that 
seemed,  from  the  nature  of  its  construction,  to  have  been 
paved  by  a  society  of  antiquarians,  if  a  person  could  judge 
from  its  obsolete  character,  and  the  difficulty,  without  risk 
of  neck  and  limb,  of  riding  a  horse  or  driving  a  carriage 
along  it.  Ireland,  as  our  English  readers  ought  to  know, 
has  always  been  a  country  teeming  with  abundance — a 
happy  land,  in  which  want,  destitution,  sickness,  and  fam- 
ine have  never  been  felt  or  known,  except  through  the  men- 
dacious misrepresentations  of  her  enemies.  The  road  we 
speak  of  was  a  proof  of  this  ;  for  it  was  evident  to  every  ob- 
server that,  in  some  season  of  superabundant  food,  the  peo- 
ple, not  knowing  exactly  how  to  dispose  of  their  shilling 
loaves,  took  to  paving  the  common  roads  with  them,  rather 
than  they  should  be  utterly  useless.  These  loaves,  in  the 
course  of  time,  underwent  the  process  of  petrifaction,  but 
could  not,  nevertheless,  be  looked  upon  as  wholly  lost  to 
the  country.  A  great  number  of  the  Irish,  within  six  of  the 
last  preceding  years — that  is,  from  '46  to  '52 — took  a  pecu- 

*  I  mean  no  offence  whatsoever  to  this  distinguished  and  multitudi- 
nous writer  ;  but  the  commencement  of  this  novel  really  resembled 
that  of  so  many  of  his  that  I  was  anxious  to  avoid  the  charge  of 
imitating  him. 


iS  WILLY  RELLLY. 

liar  fancy  for  them  as  food,  which,  we  presume,  caused 
their  enemies  to  say  that  we  then  had  hard  times  in  Ireland. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  it  enabled  the  sagacious  epicures  who 
lived  upon  them  to  retire,  in  due  course,  to  the  delightful 
retreats  of  Skull  and  Skibbereen,*  and  similar  asylums, 
there  to  pass  the  very  short  remainder  of  their  lives  in 
health,  ease,  and  luxury. 

The  evening,  as  we  have  said,  was  about  the  close  of 
September,  when  the  two  equestrians  we  speak  of  were  pro- 
ceeding at  a  pace  necessarily  slow.  One  of  them  was  a  bluff, 
fresh-complexioned  man,  of  about  sixty  summers  ;  but 
although  of  a  healthy  look,  and  a  frame  that  had  evidently 
once  been  vigorous,  yet  he  was  a  good  deal  stooped,  had 
about  him  all  the  impotence  of  plethora,  and  his  hair,  which 
fell  down  his  shoulders,  was  white  as  snow.  The  other, 
who  rode  pretty  close  to  him,  was  much  about  his  own  age, 
or  perhaps  a  few  years  older,  if  one  could  judge  by  a  face 
that  gave  more  undeniable  evidences  of  those  furrows  and 
wrinkles  which  Time  usually  leaves  behind  him.  This  per- 
son did  not  ride  exactly  side  by  side  with  the  first-men- 
tioned but  a  little  aback,  though  not  so  far  as  to  prevent 
the  possibility  of  conversation.  At  this  time  it  may  be  men- 
tioned here  that  every  man  that  could  afford  it  wore  a  wig, 
with  the  exception  of  some  of  those  eccentric  individuals  that 
are  to  be  found  in  every  state  and  period  of  society,  and  who 
are  remarkable  for  that  peculiar  love  of  singularity  which  gen- 
erally constitutes  their  character — a  small  and  harmless  am- 
bition, easily  gratified,  and  involving  no  injury  to  their  fel- 
low-creatures. The  second  horseman,  therefore,  wore  a 
wig,  but  the  other,  although  he  eschewed  that  ornament,  if 
it  can  be  called  so,  was  by  no  means  a  man  of  that  mild  and 
harmless  character  which  we  have  attributed  to  the  eccentric 
and  unfashionable  class  of  whom  we  have  just  spoken.  So 
far  from  that,  he  was  a  man  of  an  obstinate  and  violent 
temper,  of  strong  and  unreflecting  prejudices  both  for  good 
and  evil,  hot,  persevering,  and  vindictive,  though  personally 

*  Two  poor-houses  in  the  most  desolate  parts  of  the  County  of  Cork, 
where  famine,  fever,  dysentery,  and  cholera,  rendered  more  destruc- 
tive by  the  crowded  state  of  the  houses  and  the  consequent  want  of 
ventilation,  swept  away  the  wretched  inmates  to  the  amount,  if  we 
recollect  rightly,  of  sometimes  from  fifty  to  seventy  per  diem  in  the 
years  '45  and  '47. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  19 

brave,  intrepid,  and  often  generous.  Like  many  of  his 
class,  he  never  troubled  his  head  about  religion  as  a  matter 
that  must,  and  ought  to  have  been,  personally,  of  the  chief- 
est  interest  to  himself,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  looked 
upon  as  one  of  the  best  and  staunchest  Protestants  of  the 
day.  His  loyalty  and  devotedness  to  the  throne  of  England 
were  not  only  unquestionable,  but  proverbial  throughout  the 
country  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  regarded  no  clergyman, 
either  of  his  own  or  any  other  creed,  as  a  man  whose  inti- 
macy was  worth  preserving,  unless  he  was  able  to  take  off 
his  three  or  four  bottles  of  claret  after  dinner.  In  fact,  not 
to  keep  our  readers  longer  in  suspense,  the  relation  which 
he  and  his  companion  bore  to  each  other  was  that  of  mas- 
ter and  servant. 

The  hour  was  now  a  little  past  twilight,  and  the  western 
sky  presented  an  unusual,  if  not  an  ominous,  appearance. 
A  sharp  and  melancholy  breeze  was  abroad,  and  the  sun, 
which  had  set  among  a  mass  of  red  clouds,  half  placid,  and 
half  angry  in  appearance,  had  for  some  brief  space  gone 
down.  Over  from  the  north,  however,  glided  by  impercep- 
tible degrees  a  long  black  bar,  right  across  the  place  of  his 
disappearance,  and  nothing  could  be  more  striking  than  the 
wild  and  unnatural  contrast  between  the  dying  crimson  of 
the  west  and  this  fearful  mass  of  impenetrable  darkness  that 
came  over  it.  As  yet  there  was  no  moon,  and  the  portion 
of  light  or  rather  "  darkness  visible"  that  feebly  appeared 
on  the  sky  and  the  landscape,  was  singularly  sombre  and 
impressive,  if  not  actually  appalling.  The  scene  about  them 
was  wild  and  desolate  in  the  extreme  ;  and  as  the  faint  out- 
lines of  the  bleak  and  barren  moors  appeared  in  the  dim 
and  melancholy  distance,  the  feelings  they  inspired  were 
those  of  discomfort  and  depression.  On  each  side  of  them 
were  a  variety  of  lonely  lakes,  abrupt  precipices,  and  exten- 
sive marshes  ;  and  as  our  travellers  went  along,  the  hum  of 
the  snipe,  the  feeble  but  mournful  cry  of  the  plover,  and 
the  wilder  and  more  piercing  whistle  of  the  curlew,  still 
deepened  the  melancholy  dreariness  of  their  situation,  and 
added  to  their  anxiety  to  press  on  towards  the  place  of  their 
destination. 

"  This  is  a  very  lonely  spot,  your  honor,"  said  his  ser- 
vant, whose  name  was  Andrew,  or,  as  he  was  more  famil- 
iarly called,  Andy  Cummiskey. 


-o  .  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

"Yes,  but  it's  the  safer,  Andy,"  replied  his  master. 
11  There  is  not  a  human  habitation  within  miles  of  us." 

11  It  doesn't  follow,  sir,  that  this  place,  above  all  others  in 
the  neighborhood,  is  not,  especially  at  this  hour,  without 
some  persons  about  it.     You  know  I'm  no  coward,  sir." 

11  What,  you  scoundrel  !  and  do  you  mean  to  hint  that 
r m  one  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  sir  ;  but  you  see  the  truth  is,  that,  this  being 
the  very  hour  for  duck  and  wild-fowl  shootin',  it's  hard  to 
say  where  or  when  a  fellow  might  start  up,  and  mistake  me 
for  a  wild  duck,  and  your  honor  for  a  curlew  or  a  bittern." 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  the  breeze  started,  as  it 
were,  into  more  vigorous  life,  and  ere  the  space  of  many 
minutes  a  dark  impenetrable  mist  or  fog  was  borne  over 
from  the  solitary  hills  across  the  dreary  level  of  country 
through  which  they  passed,  and  they  felt  themselves  sud- 
denly chilled,  whilst  a  darkness,  almost  palpable,  nearly 
concealed  them  from  each  other.  Now  the  roads  which  we 
have  described,  being  almost  without  exception  in  remote 
and  unfrequented  parts  of  the  country,  are  for  the  most  part 
covered  over  with  a  thick  sole  of  close  grass,  unless  where  a 
narrow  strip  in  the  centre  shows  that  a  pathway  is  kept 
worn,  and  distinctly  marked  by  the  tread  of  foot-passengers. 
Under  all  these  circumstances,  then,  our  readers  need  not 
feel  surprised  that,  owing  at  once  to  the  impenetrable  ob- 
curity  around  them,  and  the  noiseless  nature  of  the  an- 
'tique  and  grass-covered  pavement  over  which  they  went, 
scarcely  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards  had  been  gained 
when  they  found,  to  their  dismay,  that  they  had  lost  their 
path,  and  were  in  one  of  the  wild  and  heathy  stretches  of 
unbounded  moor  by  which  they  were  surrounded. 

"  We  have  lost  our  way,  Andy,"  observed  his  master. 
"  We've  got  off  that  damned  old  path  ;  what's  to  be  done  ? 
where  are  you  ?" 

"I'm  here,  sir,"  replied  his  man  ;  "  but  as  for  what's  to 
be  done,  it  would  take  Mave  Mullen,  that  sees  the  fairies 
and  tells  fortunes,  to  tell  us  that.  For  heaven's  sake,  stay 
where  you  are,  sir,  till  I  get  up  to  you,  for  if  we  part  from 
one  another,  we're  both  lost.     Where  are  you,  sir  ?" 

"  Curse  you,  sirra,"  replied  his  master  angrily,  "  is  this 
either  a  time  or  place  to  jest  in  ?     A  man  that  would  make 


WILLY  R LILLY.  21 

a  jest  in  such  a  situation  as  this  would  dance  on  his  father's 
tombstone." 

11  By  my  soul,  sir,  and  I'd  give  a  five-pound  note,  if  I 
had  it,  that  you  and  I  were  dancing  '  Jig  Polthogue  '  on  it 
this  minute.  But,  in  the  mane  time,  the  devil  a  one  o'  me 
sees  the  joke  your  honor  speaks  of." 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  ask  me  where  I  am,  when  you  know 
I'm  astray,  that  we're  both  astray,  you  snivelling  old  whelp  ? 
By  the  great  and  good  King  William,  I'll  be  lost,  Andy  !" 

"Well,  and  even  if  you  are,  sir,"  replied  Andy,  who, 
guided  by  his  voice,  had  now  approached  and  joined  him  ; 
"  even  if  you  are,  sir,  I  trust  you'll  bear  it  like  a  Christian 
and  a  Trojan." 

11  Get  out,  you  old  sniveller — what  do  you  mean  by  a 
Trojan  ?" 

"  A  Trojan,  sir,  I  was  tould,  is  a  man  that  lives  by  sellin' 
wild-fowl.  They  take  an  oath,  sir,  before  they  begin  the 
trade,  never  to  die  until  they  can't  help  it." 

"  You  mean  to  say,  or  to  hint  at  least,  that  in  addition  to 
our  other  dangers  we  run  the  risk  of  coming  in  contact  with 
poachers  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  if  I  don't  mistake  they're  out  to-night. 
However,  don't  let  us  alarm  one  another.  God  forbid  that 
I'd  say  a  single  word  to  frighten  you  ;  qut  still,  you  know 
yourself  that  there's  many  a  man  not  a  hundred  miles  from 
us  that  'ud  be  glad  to  mistake  you  for  a  target,  a  mallard, 
or  any  other  wild-fowl  of  that  description." 

11  In  the  meantime  we  are  both  well  armed,"  replied  his 
master  ;  "  but  what  I  fear  most  is  the  risk  we  run  of  falling 
down  precipices,  or  walking  into  lakes  or  quagmires. 
What's  to  be  done  ?  This  fog  is  so  cursedly  cold  that  it  has 
chilled  my  very  blood  into  ice." 

"  Our  best  plan,  sir,  is  to  dismount,  and  keep  ourselves 
warm  by  taking  a  pleasant  stroll  across  the  country.  The 
horses  will  take  care  of  themselves.  In  the  meantime  keep 
up  your  spirits — we'll  both  want  something  to  console  us  ; 
but  this  I  can  tell  you,  that  devil  a  bit  of  tombstone  ever 
will  go  over  either  of  us,  barrin'  the  sky  in  heaven  ;  and  for 
our  coffins,  let  us  pray  to  the  coffin-maker,  bekaise,  you 
see,   it's  the  tnaddhu  ruah*  (the  foxes),  and  ravens,   and 

*  Maddha  rua/i,  or  red  dog,  the  Irish  name  for  the  fox. 


2  2  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

other  civilized  animals  that  will  coffin  us  both  by  instalments 
in  their  hungry  guts,  until  our  bones  will  be  beautiful  to 
look  at — afther  about  six  months'  bleaching — and  a  sharp  eye 
'twould  be  that  'ud  know  the  difference  between  masther 
and  man  then,  I  think." 

We  omitted  to  say  that  a  piercing  and  most  severe  hoar 
frost  had  set  in  with  the  fog,  and  that  Cummiskey's  master 
felt  the  immediate  necessity  of  dismounting,  and  walking 
about,  in  order  to  preserve  some  degree  of  animal  heat  in 
his  body. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this,  Andy,"  said  he,  "  and  these  two 
gallant  animals  will  never  recover  it  after  the  severe  day's 
hunting  they've  had.  Poor  Fiddler  and  Piper,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  this  has  proved  a  melancholy  day  to  you  both. 
What  is  to  be  done,  Andy  ?  I  am  scarcely  able  to  stand, 
and  feel  as  if  my  strength  had  utterly  left  me." 

"What,  sir,"  replied  his  servant,  who  was  certainly 
deeply  attached  to  his  master,  "  is  it  so  bad  with  you  as  all 
that  comes  to  ?  Sure  I  only  thought  to  amuse  you,  sir. 
Come,  take  courage  ;  I'll  whistle,  and  maybe  somebody  will 
come  to  our  relief." 

He  accordingly  put  his  two  fingers  into  his  mouth,  and 
uttered  a  loud  and  piercing  whistle,  after  which  both  stood 
still  for  a  time,  but  no  reply  was  given. 

"  Stop,  sir,"  proceeded  Andrew  ;  "  I'll  give  them  an- 
other touch  that'll  make  them  spake,  if  there's  any  one 
near  enough  to  hear  us." 

He  once  more  repeated  the  whistle,  but  with  two  or 
three  peculiar  shakes  or  variations,  when  almost  instantly 
one  of  a  similar  character  was  given  in  reply. 

11  Thank  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "  be  they  friends  or  foes, 
we  have  human  creatures  not  far  from  us.  Take  courage, 
sir.     How  do  you  feel  ?" 

"  Frozen  and  chilled  almost  to  death,"  replied  his  mas- 
ter ;  "I'll  give  fifty  pounds  to  any  man  or  party  of  men 
that  will  conduct  us  safely  home." 

"I  hope  in  the  Almighty,"  said  Andrew  to  himself  in  an 
anxious  and  apprehensive  tone  of  voice,  "  that  it's  not  Par- 
rah  Rnah  (Red  Patrick),  the  red  Rapparee,  that's  in  it,  and 
I'm  afeered  it  is,  for  I  think  I  know  his  whistle.  There's  not 
a  man  in  the  three  baronies  could  give  such  a  whistle  as 
that,  barring  himself.     If  it  is,  the  masther' s  a  gone  man, 


WILLY  REILLY.  23 

and  I'll  not  be  left  behind  to  tell  his  story.     God  protect 
us  !" 

"What  are  you  saying,  Andy?"  asked  his  master. 
"  What  were  you  muttering  just  now  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir,  nothing  ;  but  there  can  be  no  harm,  at  all 
events,  to  look  to  our  pistols.  If  there  should  be  danger, 
let  us  sell  our  lives  like  men." 

"And  so  we  will,  Andy.  The  country  I  know  is  in  a 
disturbed  and  lawless  state,  and  ever  since  that  unfortunate 
affair  of  the  priest,  I  know  I  am  not  popular  with  a  great 
many.   I  hope  we  won't  come  across  his  Rapparee  nephew." 

11  Whether  we  do  or  not,  sir,  let  us  look  to  our  firearms. 
Show  me  yours  till  I  settle  the  powdher  in  them.  Why,  God 
bless  me,  how  you  are  tremblin'." 

"  It  is  not  from  fear,  sir,"  replied  the  intrepid  old  man, 
"but  from  cold.  If  any  thing  should  happen  me,  Andy,  let 
my  daughter  know  that  my  will  is  in  the  oaken  cabinet  ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  last  I  made.  She  is  my  heiress — but  that  she 
is  by  the  laws  of  the  land.  However,  as  I  had  disposed  of 
some  personal  property  to  other  persons,  which  disposition 
I  have  revoked  in  the  will  I  speak  of — my  last,  as  I  said — 
I  wish  you  to  let  her  know  where  she  may  find  it.  Her 
mother's  jewels  are  also  in  the  same  place — but  they,  too, 
are  her's  by  right  of  law — her  mother  bequeathed  them  to 
her." 

"  Ah  !  sir,  you  are  right  to  remember  and  think  well  of 
that  daughter.  She  has  been  a  guardian  angel  to  you  these 
five  years.  But  why,  sir,  do  you  give  me  this  message  ?  Do 
you  think  I  won't  sell  my  life  in  defence  of  yours  ?  If  you 
do  you're  mistaken." 

"  I  believe  it,  Andrew  ;  I  believe  it,  Andy,"  said  he 
again,  familiarizing  the  word  ;  "  but  if  this  red  Rapparee 
should  murder  me,  I  don't  wish  you  to  sacrifice  your  life  on 
my  account.  Make  your  escape  if  he  should  be  the  person 
who  is  approaching  us,  and  convey  to  my  daughter  the  mes- 
sage I  have  given  you." 

At  this  moment  another  whistle  proceeded  from  a  quarter 
of  the  moor  much  nearer  them,  and  Andy,  having  handed 
back  the  pistols  to  his  master,  asked  him  should  he  re- 
turn it. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  other,  who  during  all  this  time 


24  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

was  pacing  to  and  fro,  in  order  to  keep  himself  from  sink- 
ing ;  "  certainly,  let  us  see  whether  these  persons  are  friends 
or  enemies." 

His  servant  then  replied  to  the  whistle,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes it  was  answered  again,  whilst  at  the  same  time  a  strong 
but  bitter  wind  arose  which  cleared  away  the  mist,  and 
showed  them  with  considerable  distinctness  the  position 
which  they  occupied. 

Within  about  ten  yards  of  them,  to  the  left,  the  very  di- 
rection in  which  they  had  been  proceeding,  was  a  small  deep 
lake  or  tarn,  utterly  shoreless,  and  into  which  they  unques- 
tionably would  have  walked  and  perished,  as  neither  of  them 
knew  how  to  swim.  The  clearing  away  of  the  mist,  and  the 
light  of  the  stars  (for  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen),  enabled 
the  parties  to  see  each  other,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Andrew 
cJid  his  master  were  joined  by  four  men,  the  principal  per- 
son among  them  being  the  identical  individual  whom  they 
both  had  dreaded— the  Red  Kapparee. 

"  Master,"  said  Cummiskey,  in  a  whisper,  on  seeing 
them  approach,  "  we  must  fight  for  it,  I'mafeered,  but  let  us 
not  be  rash  ;  there  may  be  a  friend  or  two  among  them,  and 
it  is  better  to  come  off  peaceably  if  we  can." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  replied  his  master.  "  There  is  no 
use  in  shedding  unnecessary  blood  ;  but,  in  any  event,  let 
us  not  permit  them  to  disarm  us,  should  they  insist  on  doing 
so.  They  know  I  never  go  three  yards  from  my  hall-door 
without  arms,  and  it  is  not  improbable  they  may  make  a 
point  of  taking  them  from  us.  I,  however,  for  one,  will 
not  trust  to  their  promises,  for  I  know  their  treachery,  as  I 
do  their  cowardice,  when  their  numbers  are  but  few,  and  an 
armed  opponent  or  two  before  them,  determined  to  give 
battle.  Stand,  therefore,  by  me,  Andy,  and,  by  King 
William,  should  they  have  recourse  to  violence,  we  shall  let 
them  see,  and  feel  too,  that  we  are  not  unprepared." 

"  I  have  but  one  life,  sir,"  replied  his  faithful  follower; 
"  it  was  spent — at  least  its  best  days  were — in  your  service, 
and  sooner  than  any  danger  should  come  to  you,  it  will  be 
lost  in  your  defence.  If  it  was  only  for  the  sake  of  her, 
that  is  not  here,  the  Coolccn  Bawn,  I  would  do  it." 

"Who  goes  there?"  asked  a  deep  and  powerful  voice 
when  the  parties  had  come  within  about  twenty  yards  of  each 
other. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  25 

11  By  the  powers  !"  exclaimed  Andrew  in  a  whisper,  "  it's 
himself — the  Red  Rapparee  !" 

"  We  are  friends,"  he  replied,  "  and  have  lost  our  way." 

The  other  party  approached,  and,  on  joining  our  travel- 
lers, the  Rapparee  started,  exclaiming,  "What,  noble 
Squire,  is  it  possible  that  this  is  you  ?  Hut  !  it  can't  be — 
let  me  look  at  you  closer,  till  I  make  sure  of  you." 

"  Keep  your  distance,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man  with 
courage  and  dignity  ;  "  keep  your  distance  ;  you  see  that  I 
and  my  servant  are  both  well  armed,  and  determined  to  de- 
fend ourselves  against  violence." 

An  ominous  and  ferocious  glance  passed  from  the  Rap- 
paree to  his  comrades,  who,  however,  said  nothing,  but 
seemed  to  be  resolved  to  guide  themselves  altogether  by  his 
conduct.  The  Red  Rapparee  was  a  huge  man  of  about 
forty,  and  the  epithet  of  "  Red"  had  been  given  to  him  in 
consequence  of  the  color  of  his  hair.  In  expression  his 
countenance  was  by  no  means  unhandsome,  being  florid 
and  symmetrical,  but  hard,  and  with  scarcely  any  trace  of 
feeling.  His  brows  were  far  asunder,  arguing  ingenuity  and 
invention,  but  his  eyes,  which  were  small  and  treacherous, 
glared — whenever  he  became  excited — with  the  ferocity  of 
an  enraged  tiger.  His  shoulders  were  broad,  his  chest  deep 
and  square,  his  arms  long  and  powerful,  but  his  lower  limbs 
were  somewhat  light  in  proportion  to  the  great  size  of  his 
upper  figure.  This,  however,  is  generally  the  case  when  a 
man  combines  in  his  own  person  the  united  qualities  of  ac- 
tivity and  strength.  Even  at  the  period  we  are  describing, 
when  this  once  celebrated  character  was  forty  years  of  age, 
it  was  well  known  that  in  fleetness  of  foot  there  was  no  man 
in  the  province  able  to  compete  with  him.  In  athletic  exer- 
cises that  required  strength  and  skill  he  never  had  a  rival, 
but  one — with  whom  the  reader  will  soon  be  made  acquaint- 
ed. He  was  wrapped  loosely  in  a  gray  frieze  big-coat,  or 
cothamore,  as  it  is  called  in  Irish — wore  a  hat  of  two  colors, 
and  so  pliant  in  texture  that  he  could  at  any  time  turn  it 
inside  out.  His  coat  was — as  indeed  were  all  his  clothes — 
made  upon  the  same  principle,  so  that  when  hard  pressed 
by  the  authorities  he  could  in  a  minute  or  two  transmute 
himself  into  the  appearance  of  a  man  very  different  from  the 
individual  described  to  them.  Indeed  he  was  such  a  perfect 
Proteus  that  no  vigilance  of  the  Executive  was  ever  a  match 


26  WILLY  REILLY. 

for  his  versatility  of  appearance,  swiftness  of  foot,  and  cau- 
tion. These  frequent  defeats  of  the  authorities  of  that  day 
made  him  extremely  popular  with  the  people,  who  were  al- 
ways ready  to  afford  him  shelter  and  means  of  concealment, 
in  return  for  which  he  assisted  them  with  food,  money,  and 
the  spoils  of  his  predatory  life.  This,  indeed,  was  the  saga- 
cious principle  of  the  Irish  Robbers  and  Rapparees  from  the 
beginning — to  rob  from  the  rich  and  give  to  the  poor  being 
their  motto. 

The  persons  who  accompanied  him  on  this  occasion  were 
three  of  his  his  own  gang,  who  usully  constituted  his  body- 
guard, and  acted  as  videttes,  either  for  his  protection  or  for 
the  purpose  of  bringing  him  information  of  such  travellers 
as  from  their  known  wealth  or  external  appearance  might  be 
supposed  worth  attacking.  They  were  well-made,  active, 
and  athletic  men,  in  whom  it  would  not  be  easy  to  recognize 
any  particular  character  at  variance  with  that  of  the  peas- 
antry around  them.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  they  were 
all  armed.  Having  satisfied  himself  as  to  the  identity  of 
master  and  man,  with  a  glance  at  his  companions,  the  Rap- 
paree  said, 

"  What  on  earth  brought  you  and  Andy  Cummiskey  here, 
noble  squire  ?  Oh  !  you  lost  your  way,  Andy  says.  Well 
now,"  he  proceeded,  "  you  know  I  have  been  many  a  day 
and  night  on  the  lookout  for  you  ;  aye,  and  could  have  put 
daylight  through  you  many  and  many  a  time  ;  and  what  do 
you  think  prevented  me  ?" 

"  Fear  of  God,  or  of  the  gallows,  I  hope,"  replied  the 
intrepid  old  man. 

"Well,"  returned  the  Rapparee,  with  a  smile  of  scorn, 
"  I'm  not  a  man — as  I  suppose  you  may  know — that  ever 
feared  either  of  them  much — God  forgive  me  for  the  one,  I 
don't  ask  his  forgiveness  for  the  other.  No,  Squire  Folliard, 
it  was  the  goodness,  the  kindness,  the  generosity,  and  the 
charity  of  the  Cooleen  Bawit^  your  lovely  daughter,  that  held 
my  hand.  You  persecuted  my  old  uncle,  the  priest,  and  you 
would  a'  hanged  him  too,  for  merely  marryin'  a  Protestant 
and  a  Catholic  together.  Well,  sir,  your  fair  daughter,  and 
her  good  mother — that's  now  in  heaven,  I  hope — went  up  to 
Dublin  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  and  before  him  the  Coolee?i 
Bawn  went  on  her  two  knees  and  begged  my  uncle's  life, 
and  got  it  ;  for  the  Lord  Lieutenant  said  that  no  one  could 


WILLY  REILLY.  27 

deny  her  any  thing.  Now,  sir,  for  her  sake,  go  home  in 
peace.     Boys,  get  their  horses." 

Andy  Cummiskey  would  have  looked  upon  all  this  as  manly 
and  generous,  but  he  could  not  help  observing  a  particular 
and  rather  sinister  meaning  in  the  look  which  the  Rapparee 
turned  on  his  companions  as  he  spoke.  He  had  often  heard, 
too,  of  his  treacherous  disposition  and  his  unrelenting  cruelty 
whenever  he  entertained  a  feeling  of  vengeance.  In  his 
present  position,  however,  all  he  could  do  was  to  stand  on 
his  guard  ;  and  with  this  impression  strong  upon  him  he  re- 
solved to  put  no  confidence  in  the  words  of  the  Rapparee. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  horses  were  brought  up,  and  Randy 
(Randal)  Ruah  having  wiped  Mr.  Folliard's  saddle — for 
such  was  his  name — with  the  skirt  of  his  cothamore,  and  re- 
moved the  hoar  frost  or  rime  which  had  gathered  on  it,  he 
brought  the  animal  over  to  him,  and  said,  with  a  kind  of 
rude  courtesy, 

"  Come,  sir,  trust  me  ;  I  will  help  you  to  your  sad- 
dle." 

"  You  have  not  the  reputation  of  being  trustworthy,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Folliard  ;  "  keep  back,  sir,  at  your  peril  ;  I  will 
not  trust  you.      My  own  servant  will  assist  me." 

This  seemed  precisely  the  arrangement  which  the  Rap- 
paree and  his  men  had  contemplated.  The  squire,  in 
mounting,  was  obliged,  as  every  man  is,  to  use  both  his 
hands,  as  was  his  servant  also,  while  assisting  him.  They 
consequently  put  up  their  pistols  until  they  should  get  into 
the  saddles,  and,  almost  in  an  instant,  found  themselves 
disarmed,  and  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  these  lawless  and 
unscrupulous  men. 

"  Now,  Squire  Folliard,"  exclaimed  the  Rapparee,  "  see 
what  it  is  not  to  trust  an  honest  man  ;  had  you  done  so,  not 
a  hair  of  your  head  would  be  injured.  As  it  is,  I'll  give 
you  five  minutes  to  do  three  things  ;  remember  my  uncle, 
the  priest,  that  you  transported." 

11  Fie  acted  most  illegally,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man  in- 
dignantly ;  "  and,  in  my  opinion,  I  say  that,  in  consequence 
of  his  conduct,  the  country  had  a  good  riddance  of  him.  I 
only  wish  I  could  send  you  after  him  ;  perhaps  I  shall  do 
so  yet.  I  believe  in  Providence,  sirra,  and  that  God  can 
protect  me  from  your  violence  even  here." 

"  In  the  next  place,"  proceeded  the  Rapparee,  "  think  of 


28  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

your  daughter,  that  you  will  never  see  again,  either  in  this 
world  or  the  next." 

"  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  having  such  an  angel,"  re- 
plied the  old  man,  "  but  unless  you  were  a  cruel  and  a  heart- 
less ruffian,  you  would  not  at  this  moment  mention  her,  or 
bring  the  thoughts  of  her  to  my  recollection." 

"  In  the  last  place,"  continued  the  other,  "  if  you  have 
any  thing  to  say  in  the  shape  of  a  prayer,  say  it,  for  in  five 
minutes'  time  there  will  be  a  ballet  through  your  heart,  and 
in  five  more  you  will  be  snug  and  warm  at  the  bottom  of 
the  loch  there  below — that's  your  doom." 

"O'Donnel,"  said  Andy,  "think  that  there's  a  God 
above  you.  Surely  you  wouldn't  murdher  this  ould  man 
and  make  the  sowl  within  your  body  redder — if  the  thing's 
possible — than  the  head  that's  on  the  top  of  it,  though  in 
throth  I  don't  think  it's  by  way  of  ornament  it's  there 
either.  Come,  come,  Randal,  my  man,  this  is  all  feasthalagJi 
(nonsense).  You  omy  want  to  frighten  the  gentleman.  As 
for  your  uncle,  man  alive,  all  I  can  say  is  that  he  was  a 
friend  to  your  family,  and  to  religion  too,  that  sent  him  on 
his  travels." 

"  Take  off  your  gallowses"  (braces),  said  the  Rapparee  ; 
11  take  them  off,  a  couple  of  you — for,  by  all  the  powers  of 
darkness,  they'll  both  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  loch  together, 
back  to  back.     Down  you'll  go,  Andy." 

"  By  my  soul,  then,"  replied  the  unflinching  servant,  "  if 
we  go  down  you'll  £-<?  up;  and  we  have  those  belongin'  to  us 
that  will  see  you  kiss  the  hangman  yet.  Yerra,  now,  above 
all  words  in  the  alphabet  what  could  put  a  gallows  into  your 
mouth  ?  Faith,  Randal,  it's  about  your  neck  it'll  go,  and 
you'll  put  out  your  tongue  at  the  daicent  people  that  will 
attend  your  own  funeral  yet — that  is,  if  you  don't  let  us  off." 

"  Put  them  both  to  their  knees,"  said  the  Rapparee  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  "  to  their  knees  with  them.  I'll  take  the 
masther,  and,  Kineely,  do  you  take  the  man." 

The  companions  of  the  Rapparee  could  not  avoid  laughing 
at  the  comic  courage  displayed  by  Cummiskey,  and  were 
about  to  intercede  for  him,  when  O'Donnel,  which  was  his 
name,  stamped  with  fury  on  the  ground  and  asked  them  if 
they  dared  to  disobey  him.  This  sobered  them  at  once,  and 
in  less  than  a  minute  Mr.  Folliard  and  Andy  were  placed 
upon  their  knees,  to  await  the  terrific  sentence  which  was 


WILLY  RELLLY.  29 

about  to  be  executed  on  them,  in  that  wild  and  lonely  moor, 
and  under  such  appalling  circumstances.  When  placed  in 
the  desired  posture,  to  ask  that  mercy  from  God  which  they 
were  not  about  to  experience  at  the  hands  of  man,  Squire 
Folliard  spoke  : 

11  Red  Rapparee,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not  that  I  am  afraid  of 
death  as  such,  but  I  feel  that  I  am  not  prepared  to  die. 
Suffer  my  servant  and  myself  to  go  home  without  harm, 
and  I  shall  engage  not  only  to  get  you  a  pardon  from  the 
Government  of  the  country,  but  I  shall  furnish  you  with 
money  either  to  take  you  to  some  useful  calling,  or  to  emi- 
grate to  some  foreign  country,  where  nobody  will  know  of 
your  misdeeds,  or  the  life  you  have  led  here." 

"Randal,  my  man,"  added  Andy,  "listen  to  what  the 
gentleman  says,  and  you  may  escape  what  you  know  yet. 
As  for  my  masther,  Randal,  let  him  pass,  and  take  me  in 
his  place.  I  may  as  well  die  now,  maybe,  as  another  time. 
I  was  an  honest,  faithful  servant,  at  all  times.  I  have 
neither  chick  nor  child  to  cry  for  me.  No  wife,  thank  God, 
to  break  my  heart  afther.  My  conscience  is  light  and  airy, 
like  a  beggarman's  blanket,  as  they  say  ;  and,  barrin'  that  I 
once  got  drunk  wid  your  uncle  in  Moll  Flanagan's  sheebeen 
house,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  much  to  trouble  me.  Spare 
him,  then,  and  take  vie,  if  it  must  come  to  that.  He  has 
the  Cooleen  Bawn  to  think  for.  Do  you  think  of  her,  too  ; 
and  remember  that  it  was  she  who  saved  your  uncle  from  the 
gallows." 

This  unlucky  allusion  only  deepened  the  vengeance  of  the 
Red  Rapparee,  who  looked  to  the  priming  of  his  gun,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  preparing  to  perpetrate  this  most  inhuman 
and  awful  murder,  when  an  interruption  took  place  for 
which  neither  party  was  prepared. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  within  about  eight  or  ten  yards 
of  where  they  stood  there  existed  the  walls  and  a  portion  of 
the  arched  roof  of  one  of  those  old  ecclesiastical  ruins, 
which  our  antiquarians  denominate  Cyclopea?i,  like  Incus  a 
non  lucc?ido,  because  scarcely  a  dozen  men  could  kneel  in 
them.  Over  this  sad  ruin  was  what  sportsmen  term  "  a 
pass"  for  duck  and  widgeon,  and,  aided  by  the  shelter  of 
the  building,  any  persons  who  stationed  themselves  there 
could  certainly  commit  great  havoc  among  the  wild-fowl  in 
question.      The  Red  Rapparee  then    had   his    gun    in    his 


30  WILL  Y  REILL  V. 

hand,  and  was  in  the  very  act  of  adjusting  it  to  his  shoulder, 
when  a  powerful  young  man  sprung  forward,  and  dashing  it 
aside,  exclaimed  : 

11  What  is  this,  Randal  ?  Is  it  a  double  murder  you  are 
about  to  execute,  you  inhuman  ruffian  ?" 

The  Rapparee  glared  at  him,  but  with  a  quailing  and  sub- 
dued, yet  sullen  and  vindictive,  expression. 

"  Stand  up,  sir,"  proceeded  this  daring  and  animated 
young  man,  addressing  Mr.  Folliard  ;  "  and  you,  Cummis- 
key,  get  to  your  legs.  No  person  shall  dare  to  injure  either 
of  you  while  I  am  here.  O'Donnel — stain  and  disgrace  to 
a  noble  name — begone,  you  and  your  ruffians.  I  know  the 
cause  of  your  enmity  against  this  gentleman  ;  and  I  tell  you 
now,  that  if  you  were  as  ready  to  sustain  your  religion  as 
you  are  to  disgrace  it  by  your  conduct,  you  would  not  be- 
come a  curse  to  it  and  the  country,  nor  give  promise  of  feed- 
ing a  hungry  gallows  some  day,  as  you  and  your  accomplices 
will  do." 

Whilst  the  young  stranger  addressed  these  miscreants  with 
such  energy  and  determination,  Mr.  Folliard,  who,  as  well 
as  his  servant,  had  now  got  to  his  legs,  asked  the  latter  in  a 
whisper  who  he  was. 

"  By  all  that's  happy,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  it's  himself,  the 
only  man  living  that  the  Red  Rapparee  is  afraid  of  ;  it's 
'Willy  Reilly.'  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    COOLEEN    EAWX. 

THE  old  man  became  very  little  wiser  by  the  informa- 
tion of  his  servant,  and  said  in  reply,  ' '  I  hope,  Andy, 
he's  not  a  Papist  ;"  but  checking  the  unworthy  prejudice — 
and  in  him  such  prejudices  were  singularly  strong  in  words, 
although  often  feeble  in  fact — he  added,  "  it  matters  not — 
we  owe  our  lives  to  him — the  deepest  and  most  important 
obligation  that  one  man  can  owe  to  another.  I  am,  how- 
ever, scarcely  able  to  stand  ;  I  feel  benumbed  and  ex- 
hausted, and  wish  to  get  home  as  soon  as  possible." 


WILLY    REILLY  AND   THE   RAPPAREE. 


IV ILLY  REILLY,  31 

"  Mr.  Reilly, "  said  Andy,  "  this  gentleman  is  very  weak 
and  ill  ;  and  as  you  have  acted  so  much  like  a  brave  man 
and  a  gentleman,  maybe  you'd  have  no  objection  to  see  us 
safe  home. ' ' 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  do  so,"  replied  Reilly.  "  I  could 
not  for  a  moment  think  of  leaving  either  him  or  you  to  the 
mercy  of  this  treacherous  man,  who  dishonors  a  noble  name. 
Randal,"  he  proceeded,  addressing  the  Rapparee,  "mark 
my  words  ! — if  but  a  single  hair  of  this  gentleman's  head,  or 
of  any  one  belonging  to  him,  is  ever  injured  by  you  or  your 
gang,  I  swear  that  you  and  they  will  swing,  each  of  you, 
from  as  many  gibbets,  as  soon  as  the  course  of  the  law  can 
reach  you.  You  know  me,  sir,  and  my  influence  over  those 
who  protect  you.  As  for  you,  Fergus,"  he  added,  address- 
ing one  of  the  Rapparee' s  followers,  "  you  are,  thank  God  ! 
the  only  one  of  my  blood  who  has  ever  disgraced  it  by 
leading  such  a  lawless  and  guilty  life.  Be  advised  by  me — 
leave  that  man  of  treachery,  rapine,  and  murder — abandon 
him  and  reform  your  life — and  if  you  are  disposed  to  become 
a  good  and  an  industrious  member  of  society,  go  to  some 
other  country,  where  the  disgrace  you  have  incurrred  in  this 
may  not  follow  you.  Be  advised  by  me,  and  you  shall  not 
want  the  means  of  emigrating.  Now  begone  ;  and  think, 
each  of  you,  of  what  I  have  said." 

The  Rapparee  glanced  at  the  noble-looking  young  fellow 
with  the  vindictive  ferocity  of  an  enraged  bull,  who  feels  a 
disposition  to  injure  you,  but  is  restrained  by  terror  ;  or, 
which  is  quite  as  appropriate,  a  cowardly  but  vindictive 
mastiff,  who  eyes  you  askance,  growls,  shows  his  teeth,  but 
has  not  the  courage  to  attack  you. 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  so,  sir,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  you  know  I 
fear  you  not." 

M  But  in  the  meantime,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  "  what's 
to  prevent  me  from  putting  a  bullet  into  you  this  moment, 
if  I  wish  to  do  it  ?" 

"There  are  ten  thousand  reasons  against  it,"  returned 
Reilly.  "  If  you  did  so,  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  you 
would  find  yourself  in  Sligo  jail — or,  to  come  nearer  the 
truth,  in  less  than  five  minutes  you  would  find  yourself  in 
hell." 

"Well,  now,  suppose  I  should  make  the  trial,"  said  the 
Rapparee.      "  You  don't  know,  Mr.  Reilly,  how  you  have 


32  WILLY  A  LILLY. 

crossed  me  to-night.  Suppose  now  I  should  try — and  sup- 
pose, too,  that  not  one  of  you  three  should  leave  the  spot 
you  stand  on  only  as  corpses — wouldn't  I  have  the  advan- 
tage of  you  then  ?" 

Reilly  turned  towards  the  ruined  chapel,  and  simply  rais- 
ing his  right  hand,  about  eight  or  ten  persons  made  their 
appearance  ;  but,  restrained  by  a  signal  from  him,  they  did 
not  advance. 

11  That  will  do,"  said  he.  "  Now,  Randal,  I  hope  you 
understand  your  position.  Do  not  provoke  me  again  ;  for 
if  you  do  I  will  surround  you  with  toils  from  which  you 
could  as  soon  change  your  fierce  and  brutal  nature  as 
escape.  Yes,  and  I  will  take  you  in  the  midst  of  your 
ruffian  guards,  and  in  the  deepest  of  your  fastnesses,  if  ever 
you  provoke  me  as  you  have  done  on  other  occasions,  or  if 
you  ever  injure  this  gentleman  or  any  individual  of  his  fam- 
ily. Come,  sir,"  he  proceeded,  addressing  the  old  man, 
"  you  are  now  mounted — my  horse  is  in  this  old  ruin — and 
in  a  moment  I  shall  be  ready  to  accompany  you." 

Reilly  and  his  companions  joined  our  travellers,  one  of 
the  former  having  offered  the  old  squire  a  large  frieze  great- 
coat, which  he  gladly  accepted,  and  having  thus  formed  a 
guard  of  safety  for  him  and  his  faithful  attendant,  they 
regained  the  old  road  we  have  described,  and  resumed  their 
journey. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  Rapparee  and  his  companions 
looked  after  them  with  blank  faces  for  some  minutes. 

"  Well,"  said  their  leader,  "  Reilly  has  knocked  up  our 
game  for  this  night.  Only  for  him  I'd  have  had  a  full  and 
sweet  revenge.  However,  never  mind  :  it'll  go  hard  with 
me,  or  I'll  have  it  yet.  In  the  mane  time  it  won't  be  often 
that  such  another  opportunity  will  come  in  our  way." 

"  Well,  now  that  it  is  over,  what  was  your  intention,  Ran- 
dal ?"  asked  the  person  to  whom  Reilly  had  addressed  him- 
self. 

"  Why,"  replied  the  miscreant,  "  after  the  deed  was 
done,  what  was  to  prevent  us  from  robbing  the  house  to-night, 
and  taking  away  his  daughter  to  the  mountains.  I  have  long 
had  my  eye  on  her,  I  can  tell  you,  and  it'll  cost  me  a  fall, 
or  I'll  have  her  yet." 

"You  had  better,"  replied  Fergus  Reilly,  for  such  was 
his  name,  "  neither  make  nor  meddle  with  that  family  afther 


WILLY  REILLY.  $3 

this  night.  If  you  do,  that  terrible  relation  of  mine  will 
hang  you  like  a  dog.'' 

11  How  will  he  hang  me  like  a  dog  ?" asked  the  Rapparee, 
knitting  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  turning  upon  him  a  fierce 
and  gloomy  look. 

11  Why,  now,  Randal,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,"  replied 
the  other,  "  that  if  he  only  raised  his  finger  against  you  in 
the  country,  the  very  people  that  harbor  both  you  and  us 
would  betray  us,  aye,  seize  us,  and  bind  us  hand  and  foot, 
like  common  thieves,  and  give  us  over  to  the  authorities. 
But  as  for  himself,  I  believe  you  have  sense  enough  to  let 
him  alone.  When  you  took  away  Mary  Traynor,  and 
nearly  kilt  her  brother  the  young  priest — you  know  they 
were  Reilly's  tenants — I  needn't  tell  you  what  happened  : 
in  four  hours'  time  he  had  the  country  up,  followed  you  and 
your  party — I  wasn't  with  you  then,  but  you  know  it's  truth 
I'm  spakin' — and  when  he  had  five  to  one  against  you, 
didn't  he  make  them  stand  aside  until  he  and  you  should 
decide  it  between  you  ?  Aye,  and  you  know  lie  could  a' 
brought  home  every  man  of  you  tied  neck  and  heels,  and 
would,  too,  only  that  there  was  a  large  reward  offered  for 
the  takin'  of  you  livin'  or  dead,  and  he  scorned  to  have  any 
hand  in  it  on  that  account." 

"  It  was  by  a  chance  blow  he  hit  me,"  said  the  Rap- 
paree— "  by  a  chance  blow." 

"By  a  couple  dozen  chance  blows,"  replied  the  other  ; 
"  you  know  he  knocked  you  down  as  fast  as  ever  you  got 
up — I  lave  it  to  the  boys  here  that  wor  present." 

"There's  no  use  in  denyin'  it,  Randal,"  they  replied  ; 
"  you  hadn't  a  chance  wid  him." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,"  observed  the  Rapparee,  "  if  he  did 
beat  me,  he's  the  only  man  in  the  country  able  to  do  it  ; 
but  it's  not  over,  curse  him — I'll  have  another  trial  with 
him  yet." 

11  If  you  take  my  advice,"  replied  Reilly,  "  you'll  neither 
make  nor  meddle  with  him.  He's  the  head  o'  the  Catholics 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  you  know  that ;  aye,  and 
he's  their  friend,  and  uses  the  friendship  that  the  Protes- 
tants have  towards  him  for  their  advantage,  wherever  he 
can.  The  man  that  would  injure  W7illy  Reilly  is  an  enemy 
to  our  religion,  as  well  as  to  every  thing  that's  good  and 
generous  ;  and  mark  me,  Randal,  if  ever  you  cross  him  in 


34  WILLY  REILLY. 

what  he  warned  ycu  against  this  very  night,  I'll  hang  you 
myself,  if  there  wasn't  another  livin'  man  to  do  it,  and  to 
the  back  o'  that  again  I  say  you  must  shed  no  blood  so  long 
as  I'm  with  you." 

11  That  won't  be  long,  then,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  pull- 
ing out  a  purse  ;  "  there's  twenty  guineas  for  you,  and  go 
about  your  business  ;  but  take  care,  no  treachery." 

11  No,"  replied  the  other,  I'll  have  none  of  your  money  ; 
there's  blood  in  it.  God  forgive  me  for  ever  joinin'  you. 
When  I  want  money  I  can  get  it  ;  as  for  treachery,  there's 
none  of  it  in  my  veins  ;  good-night,  and  remember  my 
words." 

Having  thus  spoken,  he  took  his  way  along  the  same  road 
by  which  the  old  squire  and  his  party  went. 

"  That  fellow  will  betray  us,"  said  the  Rapparee. 

11  No,"  replied  his  companions  firmly,  "  there  never  was 
treachery  in  his  part  of  the  family  ;  he  is  not  come  from 
any  of  the  Queen  s  O'Reillys.*  We  wish  you  were  as  sure 
of  every  man  you  have  as  you  may  be  of  him." 

"  Well,  now,"  observed  their  leader,  "  a  thought  strikes 
me  ;  this  ould  squire  will  be  half  dead  all  night.  At  any 
rate  he'll  sleep  like  a  top.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  opportu- 
nity to  attack  the  house — aise  him  of  his  money,  for  he's  as 
rich  as  a  Jew — and  take  away  the  Coolce n  Bawn  ?  We'll 
call  at  Shane  Bearna's  f  stables  on  our  way  and  bring  the 
other  boys  along  wid  us.     What  do  you  say  ?" 

"  Why,  that  you'll  hang  yourself,  and  every  man  of  us." 

*  Catholic  families  who  were  faithful  and  loyal  to  Queen  Elizabeth 
during  her  wars  in  Ireland  were  stigmatized  by  the  nickname  of  the 
Queen's  friends,  to  distinguish  them  from  others  of  the  same  nam2 
who  had  opposed  her,  on  behalf  of  their  religion,  in  the  wars  which 
desolated  Ireland  during  her  reign  ;  a  portion  of  the  family  of  which 
we  write  were  on  this  account  designated  as  the  Queen's  O'Reillys. 

f  Shane  Bearna  was  a  celebrated  Rapparee,  who,  among  his  other 
exploits,  figured  principally  as  a  horse-stealer.  He  kept  the  stolen 
animals  concealed  in  remote  mountain  caves,  where  he  trimmed  and 
dyed  them  in  such  a  way  as  made  it  impossible  to  recognize  them. 
These  caves  are  curiosities  at  the  present  day,  and  are  now  known  as 
Shane  Bearna's  Stables.  He  was  a  chief  in  the  formidable  gang  of  the 
celebrated  Redmond  O'Hanlon.  It  is  said  of  him  that  he  was  called 
Bearna  because  he  never  had  any  teeth  ;  but  tradition  tells  us  that  he 
could,  notwithstanding,  bite  a  piece  out  of  a  thin  plate  of  iron  with  as 
much  ease  as  if  it  were  gingerbread. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  35 

"  Nonsense,  you  cowardly  dogs,"  replied  their  leader 
indignantly  ;   "  can't  we  lave  the  country  ?' ' 

"  Well,  if  you're  bent  on  it,"  replied  his  followers,  "  we 
won't  be  your  hindrance." 

"  We  can  break  up,  and  be  off  to  America,"  he  added. 

"  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  Coolecn  Bawu,  if  you 
take  her  ?"  they  asked. 

"  Why,  lave  her  behind  us,  afther  showin'  the  purty  crea- 
ture the  inside  of  Shane  Bearna's  stables.  She'll  be  able  to 
find  her  way  back  to  her  father's,  never  fear.  Come,  boys, 
now  or  never.  To  say  the  truth,  the  sooner  we  get  out  of 
the  country,  at  all  events,  the  better." 

The  Rapparee  and  his  men  had  moved  up  to  the  door  of 
the  old  chapel  already  alluded  to,  whilst  this  conversation 
went  on  ;  and  now  that  their  dreadful  project  had  been  de- 
termined on,  they  took  a  short  cut  across  the  moors,  in 
order  to  procure  additional  assistance  for  its  accomplish- 
ment. 

No  sooner  had  they  gone,  however,  than  an  individual, 
who  had  been  concealed  in  the  darkness  within,  came 
stealthily  to  the  door,  and  peeping  cautiously  out,  at  length 
advanced  a  few  steps  and  looked  timidly  about  him.  Per- 
ceiving that  the  coast  was  clear,  he  placed  himself  under  the 
shadow  of  the  old  walls — for  there  was  now  sufficient  light 
to  cast  a  shadow  from  any  prominent  object  ;  and  from 
thence  having  observed  the  direction  which  the  Rapparee 
and  his  men  took,  without  any  risk  of  being  seen  himself,  he 
appeared  satisfied.  The  name  of  this  individual — who, 
although  shrewd  and  cunning  in  many  things,  was  neverthe- 
less deficient  in  reason — or  rather  the  name  by  which  he 
generally  went,  was  Tom  Steeple,  a  soubriquet  given  to  him 
on  account  of  a  predominant  idea  which  characterized  and 
influenced  his  whole  conversation.  The  great  delight  of 
this  poor  creature  was  to  be  considered  the  tallest  individual 
in  the  kingdom,  and  indeed  nothing  could  be  more  amusing 
than  to  witness  the  manner  in  which  he  held  up  his  head 
while  he  walked,  or  sat,  or  stood.  In  fact  his  walk  was  a 
complete  strut,  to  which  the  pride,  arising  from  the  con- 
sciousness of,  or  rather  the  belief  in,  his  extraordinary 
height  gave  an  extremely  ludicrous  appearance.  Poor  Tom 
was  about  five  feet  nine  in  height,  but  imagined  himself  to 
be  at  least  a  foot  higher.     His  whole  family  were  certainly 


36  WILLY  REILLY. 

tall,  and  one  of  the  greatest  calamities  of  the  poor  fellow's 
life  was  a  bitter  reflection  that  he  himself  was  by  several 
inches  the  lowest  of  his  race.  This  was  the  only  exception 
he  made  with  respect  to  height,  but  so  deeply  did  it  affect 
him  that  he  could  scarcely  ever  allude  to  it  without  shed- 
ding tears.  The  life  he  led  was  similar  in  most  respects  to 
that  of  his  unhappy  class.  He  wandered  about  through  the 
country,  stopping  now  at  one  farmer's  house,  and  now  at 
another's,  where  he  always  experienced  a  kind  reception, 
because  he  was  not  only  amusing  and  inoffensive,  but  capa- 
ble of  making  himself  useful  as  a  messenger  and  drudge. 
He  was  never  guilty  of  a  dishonest  act,  nor  ever  known  to 
commit  a  breach  of  trust  ;  and  as  a  quick  messenger,  his 
extraordinary  speed  of  foot  rendered  him  unrivalled.  His 
great  delight,  however,  was  to  attend  sportsmen,  to  whom 
he  was  invaluable  as  a  guide  and  director.  Such  was  his 
wind  and  speed  of  foot  that,  aided  by  his  knowledge  of 
what  is  termed  the  lie  of  the  country,  he  was  able  to  keep  up 
with  any  pack  of  hounds  that  ever  went  out.  As  a  soho  man 
he  was  unrivalled.  The  form  of  every  hare  for  miles  about 
was  known  to  him,  and  if  a  fox  or  a  covey  of  partridges 
were  to  be  found  at  all,  he  was  your  man.  In  wild-fowl 
shooting  he  was  infallible.  No  pass  of  duck,  widgeon, 
barnacle,  or  curlew,  was  unknown  to  him.  In  fact,  his 
principal  delight  was  to  attend  the  gentry  of  the  country  to 
the  field,  either  with  harrier,  foxhound,  or  setter.  No 
coursing  match  went  right  if  Tom  were  not  present  ;  and  as 
for  night  shooting,  his  eye  and  ear  were  such  as,  for  accu- 
racy of  observation,  few  have  ever  witnessed.  It  is  true  he 
could  subsist  a  long  time  without  food,  but,  like  the  re- 
nowned Captain  Dalgetty,  wrhen  an  abundance  of  it  hap- 
pened to  be  placed  before  him,  he  displayed  the  most  inde- 
fensible ignorance  as  to  all  knowledge  of  the  period  when  he 
ought  to  stop,  considering  it  his  bounden  duty  on  all  occa- 
sions to  clear  off  whatever  was  set  before  him — a  feat  which 
he  always  accomplished  with  the  most  signal  success. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  Tom,  "  dat  Red  Rapparee  is  tall 
man,  but  not  tall  as  Tom  ;  him  no  steeple  like  Tom  ;  but 
him  rogue  and  murderer,  an'  Tom  honest  ;  him  won't  carry 
off  Cooleen  Bawn  dough,  nor  rob  her  fader,  ayder.  Come, 
Tom,  Steeple  Tom,  out  with  your  two  legs,  one  afore  toder, 
and  put  Rapparee's  nose  out  o'  joint.     Coolccn  Bawn  dat's 


WILLY  REILLY.  37 

good  to  everybody,  Catlicks  (Catholics)  an'  all,  an'  often 
ordered  Tom  many  a  bully  dinner.  Hicko  !  hicko  !  be  de 
bones  of  Peter  White — off  I  go  !" 

Tom,  like  many  other  individuals  of  his  description,  was 
never  able  to  get  over  the  language  of  childhood — a  charac- 
teristic which  is  often  appended  to  the  want  of  reason,  and 
from  which,  we  presume,  the  term  "  innocent"  has  been 
applied  in  an  especial  manner  to  those  who  are  remarkable 
for  the  same  defect. 

Having  uttered  the  words  we  have  just  recited,  he  started 
off  at  a  gait,  peculiar  to  fools,  which  is  known  by  the  name 
of  "  a  sling  trot,"  and  after  getting  out  upon  the  old  road 
he  turned  himself  in  the  direction  which  Willy  Reilly  and 
his  party  had  taken,  and  there  we  beg  to  leave  him  for  the 
present. 

The  old  squire  felt  his  animal  heat  much  revived  by  the 
warmth  of  the  frieze  coat,  and  his  spirits,  now  that  the 
dreadful  scene  into  which  he  had  been  so  unexpectedly  cast 
had  passed  away  without  danger,  began  to  rise  so  exuber- 
antly that  his  conversation  became  quite  loquacious  and 
mirthful,  if  not  actually,  to  a  certain  extent,  incoherent. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "you  must  come  home  with  me — con- 
found me,  but  you  must,  and  you  needn't  say  nay,  now,  for 
I  shall  neither  take  excuse  nor  apology.  I  am  a  hospitable 
man,  Mr. —  what's  this  your  name  is  ?" 

"  My  name,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  is  Reilly — William 
Reilly,  or,  as  I  am  more  generally  called,  Willy  Reilly.  The 
name,  sir,  though  an  honorable  one,  is,  in  this  instance,  that 
of  an  humble  man,  but  one  who,  I  trust,  will  never  disgrace 
it." 

11  You  must  come  home  with  me,  Mr.  Reilly.  Not  a 
word  now." 

"  Such  is  my  intention,  sir,"  replied  Reilly.  "  I  shall 
not  leave  you  until  I  see  that  all  risk  of  danger  is  past — un- 
til I  place  you  safely  under  your  own  roof." 

"  Well,  now, "  continued  the  old  squire,  "I  believe  a 
Papist  can  be  a  gentleman — a  brave  man — a  man  of  honor, 
Mr.  Reilly." 

"lam  not  aware  that  there  is  any  thing  in  his  religion  to 
make  him  either  dishonorable  or  cowardly,  sir,"  replied 
Reilly  with  a  smile. 

"  No  matter,"   continued  the  other,  who  found  a  good 


$S  WILLY  I?  LILLY. 

deal  of  difficulty  in  restraining  his  prejudices  on  that  point, 
"  no  matter,  sir,  no  matter,  Mr.— a — a — oh,  yes,  Reilly,  we 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  religion — away  with  it — con- 
found religion,  sir,  if  it  prevents  one  man  from  being  thank- 
ful, and  grateful  too,  to  another,  when  that  other  has  saved 
his  life.  What's  your  state  and  condition  in  society, 
Mr. —  ?  confound  the  scoundrel  !  he'd  have  shot  me.  We 
must  hang  that  fellow — the  Red  Rapparee  they  call  him — a 
dreadful  scourge  to  the  country  ;  and,  another  thing,  Mr. — 
Mr.  Mahon — you  must  come  to  my  daughter's  wedding. 
Not  a  word  now — by  the  great  Boyne,  you  must.  Have 
you  ever  seen  my  daughter,  sir  ?" 

"  I  have  never  had  that  pleasure,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  I 
have  heard  enough  of  her  wonderful  goodness  and  beauty." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  tell  you  to  your  teeth  that  I  deny  your 
words — you  have  stated  a  falsehood,  sir — a  lie,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?"  replied  Reilly,  somewhat  in- 
dignantly, "lam  not  in  the  habit  of  stating  a  falsehood, 
nor  of  submitting  tamely  to  such  an  imputation." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  I  say  it's  a  lie  still,  my  friend.  What  did 
you  say  ?  Why,  that  you  had  heard  enough  of  her  goodness 
and  beauty.  Now,  sir,  by  the  banks  of  the  Boyne,  I  say 
you  didn't  hear  half  enough  of  either  one  or  t'other.  Sir,  you 
should  know  her,  for  although  you  are  a  Papist  you  are  a 
brave  man,  and  a  gentleman.  Still,  sir,  a  Papist  is  not — 
curse  it,  this  isn't  handsome  of  me,  Willy.  I  beg  your  par- 
don. Confound  all  religions  if  it  goes  to  that.  Still  at  the 
same  time  I'm  bound  to  say  as  a  loyal  man  that  Protestant- 
ism is  my  forte,  Mr.  Reilly — there's  where  I'm  strong,  a 
touch  of  Hercules  about  me  there,  Mr.  Reilly — Willy,  I 
mean.  Well,  you  are  a  thorough  good  fellow,  Papist  and 
all,  though  you — ahem  ! — never  mind  though,  you  shall  see 
my  daughter,  and  you  shall  hear  my  daughter ';  for,  by  the 
great  Boyne,  she  must  salute  the  man  that  saved  her  father's 
life,  and  prevent  her  from  being  an  orphan.  And  yet  see, 
Willy,  I  love  that  girl  to  such  a  degree  that  if  heaven  was 
open  for  me  this  moment,  and  that  Saint  Peter — hem  ! — I 
mean  the  Apostle  Peter,  said  to  me,  '  Come,  Folliard,  walk 
in,  sir,'  by  the  great  Deliverer  that  saved  us  from  Pope  and 
Popery,  brass  money,  and — ahem  !  I  beg  your  pardon — 
well,  I  say  if  he  was  to  say  so,  I  wouldn't  leave  her. 
There's   affection   for  you  ;     but    she  deserves  it.     No,   if 


WILLY  REILLY.  39 

ever  a  girl  was  capable  of  keeping  an  old  father  from  heaven 
she  is." 

"  I  understand  your  meaning,  sir,"  replied  Reilly  with  a 
smile,  "  and  I  believe  she  is  loved  by  every  one  who  has  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  her — by  rich  and  poor." 

:'  Troth,  Mr.  Reilly,"  observed  Andy,  "  it's  a  sin  for  rny 
one  to  let  their  affections,  even  for  one  of  their  own  childer, 
go  between  them  and  heaven.  As  for  the  masther,  he 
makes  a  god  of  her.  To  be  sure  if  ever  there  was  an  angel 
in  this  world  she  is  one. ' ' 

11  Get  out,  you  old  whelp,"  exclaimed  his  master  ;  "  what 
do  you  know  about  it  ? — you  who  never  had  wife  or  child  ? 
isn't  she  my  only  child  ? — the  apple  of  my  eye  ?  the  love  of 
my  heart  ?" 

"  If  you  loved  her  so  well  you  wouldn't  make  her  un- 
happy then." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  despicable  old  Papist  ?" 

11  I  mean  that  you  wouldn't  marry  her  to  a  man  she 
doesn't  like,  as  you're  goin'  to  do.  That's  a  bad  way  to 
make  her  happy,  at  any  rate." 

"  Overlook  the  word  Papist,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  I  applied  to 
that  old  idolater — the  fellow  worships  images  ;  of  course 
you  know,  as  a  Papist,  he  does — ahem  ! — but  to  show  you 
that  I  don't  hate  the  Papist  without  exception,  I  beg  to  let 
you  know,  sir,  that  I  frequently  have  the  Papist  priest  of 
our  parish  to  dine  with  me  ;  and  if  that  isn't  liberality  the 
devil's  in  it.  Isn't,  that  true,  you  superstitious  old  Pada- 
reen  ?  No,  Mr.  Reilly,  Mr.  Mahon — Willy,  I  mean — I'm  a 
liberal  man,  and  I  hope  we'll  be  all  saved  yet,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  Pope — ahem  !  yes,  I  hope  we  shall  all  be 
saved." 

"  Throth,  sir,"  said  Andy,  addressing  himself  to  Reilly, 
"he's  a  quare  gentleman,  this.  lie's  always  abusing  the 
Papists,  as  he  calls  us,  and  yet  for  every  Protestant  servant 
undher  his  roof  he  has  three  Papists,  as  he  calls  us.  His 
bark,  sir,  is  worse  than  his  bite,  any  day." 

11  I  believe  it,"  replied  Reilly  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  it's  a 
pity  that  a  good  and  benevolent  man  should  suffer  these 
idle  prejudices  to  sway  him." 

11  Divil  a  bit  they  sway  him,  sir,"  replied  Andy  ;  "  he'll 
damn  and  abuse  them  and  their  religion,  and  yet  he'll  go 
any  length  to  serve  one  o'  them,  if  they  want  a  friend,  and 


4-0  WILLY  REILLY. 

has  a  good  character.  But  here,  now  we're  at  the  gate  of 
the  avenue,  and  you'll  soon  see  the  Cooleen  Bawn." 

"  Hallo  !"  the  squire  shouted  out,  "  what  the  devil  !  are 
you  dead  or  asleep  there  ?  Brady,  you  Papist  scoundrel, 
why  not  open  the  gate  ?" 

The  porter's  wife  came  out  as  he  uttered  the  words,  say- 
ing, "  I  beg  your  honor's  pardon.  Ned  is  up  at  the  Cas- 
tle ;"   and  whilst  speaking  she  opened  the  gate. 

"  Ha,  Molly  !"  exclaimed  her  master  in  a  tone  of  such 
bland  good  nature  as  could  not  for  a  moment  be  mistaken  ; 
"well,  Molly,  how  is  little  Mick?  Is  he  better,  poor  fel- 
low ?" 

"  He  is,  thank  God,  and  your  honor." 

"  Hallo,  Molly,"  said  the  squire,  laughing,  "  that's  Popery 
again.  You  are  thanking  God  and  me  as  if  we  were  inti- 
mate acquaintances.  None  of  that  foolish  Popish  nonsense. 
When  you  thank  Gcd,  thank  him  ;  and  when  you  thank  me, 
why  thank  me  ;  but  don't  unite  us,  as  you  do  him  and 
your  Popish  saints,  for  I  tell  you,  Molly,  I'm  no  saint  ;  God 
forbid  !  Tell  the  doctorman  to  pay  him  every  attention, 
and  to  send  his  bill  to  me  when  the  child  is  properly  recov- 
ered ;  mark  that — properly  recovered." 

A  noble  avenue,  that  swept  along  with  two  or  three  mag- 
nificent bends,  brought  them  up  to  a  fine  old  mansion  of  the 
castellated  style,  where  the  squire  and  his  two  equestrian 
attendants  dismounted,  and  were  ushered  into  the  parlor, 
which  they  found  brilliantly  lighted  up  with  a  number  of 
large  wax  tapers.  The  furniture  of  the  room  was  exceed- 
ingly rich,  but  somewhat  curious  and  old-fashioned.  It  was 
such,  however,  as  to  give  ample  proof  of  great  wealth  and 
comfort,  and,  by  the  heat  of  a  large  peat  fire  which  blazed  in 
the  capacious  hearth,  it  communicated  that  sense  of  warmth 
which  was  in  complete  accordance  with  the  general  aspect  of 
the  apartment.  An  old  gray-haired  butler,  well- powdered, 
together  with  two  or  three  other  servants  in  rich  livery,  now 
entered,  and  the  squire's  first  inquiry  was  after  his  daugh- 
ter. 

"  John,"  said  he  to  the  butler,  "  how  is  your  mistress  ?" 
but,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  added,  "  here  are  twen- 
ty pounds,  which  you  will  hand  to  those  fine  fellows  at  the 
hall-door." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"   replied  Reilly,  "  those  men  are  my 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  41 

tenants,  and  the  sons  of  my  tenants  :  they  have  only  per- 
formed towards  you  a  duty,  which  common  humanity  would 
require  at  their  hands  towards  the  humblest  person  that 
lives." 

"  They  must  accept  it,  Mr.  Reilly — they  must  have  it — 
they  are  humble  men — and  as  it  is  only  the  reward  of  a  kind 
office,  I  think  it  is  justly  due  to  them.  Here,  John,  give 
them  the  money." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Reilly  interposed  ;  the  old  squire 
would  not  listen  to  him.  John  was,  accordingly,  dis- 
patched to  the  hall  steps,  but  found  that  they  had  all  gone. 

At  this  moment  our  friend  Tom  Steeple  met  the  butler, 
whom  he  approached  with  a  kind  of  wild  and  uncouth  anx- 
iety. 

"Aha!  Mista  John,"  said  he,  "you  tall  man  too,  but 
not  tall  as  Tom  Steeple — ha,  ha — you  good  man  too,  Mista 
John — give  Tom  bully  dinners — Willy  Reilly,  Mista  John, 
want  to  see  Willy  Reilly." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him,  Tom  ?  he's  engaged  with 
the  master." 

"  Must  see  him,  Mista  John  ;  stitch  in  time  saves  nine. 
Hicko  !  hicko  !  God's  sake,  Mista  John  :  God's  sake  ! 
Up  dere  ;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  pointed  towards  the  sky. 

11  Well,  but  what  is  your  business,  then  ?  What  have  you 
to  say  to  him  ?     He's  engaged,  I  tell  you." 

Tom,  apprehensive  that  he  might  not  get  an  opportunity 
of  communicating  with  Reilly,  bolted  in,  and  as  the  parlor 
door  stood  open,  he  saw  him  standing  near  the  large  chiin- 
ney-piece. 

"Willy  Reilly!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
with  earnestness,  "  Willy  Reilly,  dere's  news  for  you — for 
de  squire  too — bad  news — God's  sake  come  wid  Tom — you 
tall  too,  Willy  Reilly,  but  not  tall  as  Tom  is." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Tom  ?"  asked  Reilly  ;  "  you  look 
alarmed." 

"  God's  sake,  here,  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  kind- 
hearted  fool,  "  come  wid  Tom.     Bad  news. " 

"Hallo!  exclaimed  the  squire,  "what  is  the  matter? 
Is  this  Tom  Steeple  ?  Go  to  the  kitchen,  Tom,  and  get  one 
of  your  '  bully  dinners' — my  poor  fellow — off  with  you — and 
a  pot  of  beer,  Tom." 

An   expression  of   distress,    probably  heightened   by  his 


42  WILLY  RELLLY. 

vague  and  unconscious  sense  of  the  squire's  kindness,  was 
depicted  strongly  on  his  countenance,  and  ended  in  a  burst 
of  tears. 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Reilly,  "  poor  Tom,  sir,  was  with  us 
to-night  on  our  duck-shooting  excursion,  and,  now  that  I 
remember,  remained  behind  us  in  the  old  ruin — and  then  he 
is  in  tears.  What  can  this  mean  ?  I  will  go  with  you,  Tom 
— excuse  me,  sir,  for  a  few  minutes — there  can  be  no  harm 
in  hearing  what  he  has  to  say." 

He  accompanied  the  fool,  with  whom  he  remained  for 
about  six  or  eight  minutes,  after  which  he  re-entered  the 
parlor  with  a  face  which  strove  in  vain  to  maintain  its  pre- 
vious expression  of  ease  and  serenity. 

"  Well,  Willy?"  said  the  squire — "  you  see,  by  the  way, 
I  mike  an  old  acquaintance  of  you — " 

"  You  do  me  honor,  sir,"  replied  Reilly. 

"  Well,  what  was  this  mighty  matter  ?  Not  a  fool's  mes- 
sage, I  hope  ?  eh  !" 

11  No,  sir,"  said  the  other,  "  but  a  matter  of  some  impor- 
tance." 

11  John,"  asked  his  master,  as  the  butler  entered,  "  did 
you  give  those  worthy  fellows  the  money  ?" 

"  No,  your  honor,"  replied  the  other,  "  they  were  gone 
before  I  went  out." 

' '  Well,  well, ' '  replied  his  master,  ' '  it  can't  be  helped.  You 
will  excuse  me,  Mr. — a — a — yes — Mr.  Reilly — Willy — Willy 
— ay,  that's  it — you  will  excuse  me,  Willy,  for  not  bringing 
you  to  the  drawing-room.  The  fact  is,  neither  of  us  is  in  a 
proper  trim  to  go  there — both  travel-soiled,  as  they  say — you 
with  duck-shooting  and  I  with  a  long  ride — besides,  I  am 
quite  too  much  fatigued  to  change  my  dress — John,  some 
Madeira.  I'm  better  than  I  was — but  still  dreadfully  ex- 
hausted— and  afterwards,  John,  tell  your  mistress  that  her 
father  wishes  to  see  her  here.  First,  the  Madeira,  though, 
till  I  recruit  myself  a  little.  A  glass  or  two  will  do  neither 
of  us  any  harm,  Willy,  but  a  great  deal  of  good.  God  bless 
me  !  what  an  escape  I've  had  !  what  a  dreadful  fate  you 
rescued  me  from,  my  young  friend  and  preserver — for  as 
such  I  will  ever  look  upon  you." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  will  not  deny  that  the  appear- 
ance of  myself  and  my  companions,  in  all  probability,  saved 
your  life." 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  43 

"  There  was  no  probability  in  it,  Willy — none  at  all  ;  it 
would  have  been  a  dead  certainty  in  every  sense.  My  God  ! 
Here,  John — put  it  down  here — fill  for  that  gentleman  and 
me — thank  you,  John — Willy,"  he  said  as  he  took  the  glass 
in  his  trembling  hand — "  Willy — John,  withdraw  and  send 
down  my  daughter — Willy" — the  old  man  looked  at  him, 
but  was  too  full  to  utter  a  word.  At  this  moment  his 
daughter  entered  the  room,  and  her  father,  laying  down  the 
glass,  opened  his  arms,  and  said  in  a  choking  voice, 
"  Helen,  my  daughter — my  child — come  to  me  ;"  and  as 
she  threw  herself  into  them  he  embraced  her  tenderly  and 
wept  aloud. 

"  Dear  papa  !"  she  exclaimed,  after  the  first  burst  of  his 
grief  was  over,  "what  has  affected  you  so  deeply?  Why 
are  you  so  much  agitated  ?" 

11  Look  at  that  noble  young  man,"  he  exclaimed,  direct- 
ing her  attention  to  Reilly,  who  was  still  standing.  "  Look 
at  him,  my  life,  and  observe  him  well  ;  there  he  stands  who 
has  this  night  saved  your  loving  father  from  the  deadly  aim 
of  an  assassin — from  being  murdered  by  O'Donnel,  the  Red 
Rapparee,  in  the  lonely  moors." 

Reilly,  from  the  moment  the  far-famed  Cooleen  Bawn  en- 
tered the  room,  heard  not  a  syllable  the  old  man  had  said. 
He  was  absorbed,  entranced,  struck  with  a  sensation  of 
wonder,  surprise,  agitation,  joy,  and  confusion,  all  nearly  at 
the  same  moment.  Such  a  blaze  of  beauty,  such  elegance 
of  person,  such  tenderness  and  feeling  as  chastened  the  radi- 
ance of  her  countenance  into  something  that  might  be 
termed  absolutely  divine  ;  such  symmetry  of  form  ;  such 
harmony  of  motion  ;  such  a  seraphic  being  in  the  shape  of 
woman,  he  had,  in  fact,  never  seen  or  dreamt  of.  She 
seemed  as  if  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  light,  of  dig- 
nity, of  goodness,  of  grace  ;  but  that  which,  above  all, 
smote  his  heart  on  the  moment  was  the  spirit  of  tenderness 
and  profound  sensibility  which  seemed  to  predominate  in 
her  whole  being.  Why  did  his  manly  and  intrepid  heart 
palpitate  ?  Why  did  such  a  strange  confusion  seize  upon 
him  ?  Why  did  the  few  words  whicti  she  uttered  in  her 
father's  arms  fill  his  ears  with  a  melody  that  charmed  him 
out  of  his  strength  ?  Alas  !  is  it  necessary  to  ask  ?  To 
those  who  do  not  understand  this  mystery,  no  explanation 


44  WILLY  REILLY. 

could  be  of  any  avail  ;  and  to  those  who  do,  none  is  neces- 
sary. 

After  her  father  had  spoken,  she  raised  herself  from  his 
arms,  and  assuming  her  full  height — and  she  was  tall — 
looked  for  a  moment  with  her  dark,  deep,  and  terrible  eyes 
upon  Reilly,  who  in  the  meantime  felt  rapt,  spell-bound, 
and  stood,  whilst  his  looks  were  riveted  upon  these  irresist- 
ible orbs,  as  if  he  had  been  attracted  by  the  influence  of 
some  delightful  but  supernatural  power,  under  which  he  felt 
himself  helpless. 

That  mutual  gaze  and  that  delightful  moment  !  alas  ! 
how  many  hours  of  misery — of  sorrow — of  suffering — and  of 
madness  did  they  not  occasion  ! 

"  Papa  has  imposed  a  task  upon  me,  sir,"  she  said,  ad- 
vancing gracefully  towards  him,  her  complexion  now  palej 
and  again  overspread  with  deep  blushes.  "  What  do  I  say? 
A  task — a  task  !  to  thank  the  preserver  of  my  father's  life — 
I  know  not  what  I  say  :  help  me,  sir,  to  papa — I  am  weak — 
I  am — "  Reilly  flew  to  her,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms  just 
in  time  to  prevent  her  from  falling. 

"  My  God  !"  exclaimed  her  father,  getting  to  his  feet, 
"  what  is  the  matter  ?  I  was  wrong  to  mention  the  circum- 
stance so  abruptly  ;  I  ought  to  have  prepared  her  for  it. 
You  are  strong,  Reilly,  you  are  strong,  and  I  am  too  feeble 
— carry  her  to  the  settee.  There,  God  bless  you  ! — God 
bless  you  ! — she  will  soon  recover.  Helen  !  my  child  !  my 
life  !  What,  Helen  !  Come,  dearest  love,  be  a  woman.  I 
am  safe,  as  you  may  see,  dearest.  I  tell  you  I  sustained  no 
injury  in  life — not  a  hair  of  my  head  Was  hurt  ;  thanks  to 
Mr.  Reilly  for  it — thanks  to  this  gentleman.  Oh  !  that's 
right,  bravo,  Helen — bravo,  my  girl  !  See  that,  Reilly, 
isn't  she  a  glorious  creature  ?  She  recovers  now,  to  set  her 
old  loving  father's  heart  at  ease." 

The  weakness,  for  it  did  not  amount  altogether  to  insensi- 
bility, was  only  of  brief  duration. 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  she,  raising  herself,  and  withdrawing 
gently  and  modestly  from  Reilly 's  support,  "  I  was  unpre- 
pared for  the  account  of  this  dreadful  affair.  Excuse  me, 
sir  ;  surely  you  will  admit  that  a  murderous  attack  on 
dear  papa's  life  could  not  be  listened  to  by  his  only  child 
with  indifference.  But  do  let  me  know  how  it  happened, 
papa." 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  V.  45 

11  You  are  not  yet  equal  to  it,  darling  ;  you  are  too  much 
agitated." 

"lam  equal  to  it  now,  papa  !  Pray,  let  me  hear  it,  and 
how  this  gentleman — who  will  be  kind  enough  to  imagine 
my  thanks,  for,  indeed,  no  language  could  express  them — 
and  how  this  gentleman  was  the  means  of  saving  you." 

"  Perhaps,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  E.eilly,  "  it  would  be  bet- 
ter to  defer  the  explanation  until  you  shall  have  gained  more 
strength." 

11  Oh,  no,  sir,"  she  replied  ;  "  my  anxiety  to  hear  it  will 
occasion  me  greater  suffering,  I  am  sure,  than  the  knowl- 
edge of  it,  especially  now  that  papa  is  safe." 

Reilly  bowed  in. acquiescence,  but  not  in  consequence  of 
her  words  ;  a  glance  as  quick  as  the  lightning,  but  full  of 
entreaty  and  gratitude,  and  something  like  joy — for  who 
does  not  know  the  many  languages  which  the  single  glance  of 
a  lovely  woman  can  speak  ? — such  a  glance,  we  say,  accom- 
panied her  words,  and  at  once  won  him  to  assent. 

11  Miss  Folliard  may  be  right,  sir,"  he  observed,  "  and  as 
the  shock  has  passed,  perhaps  to  make  her  briefly  acquaint- 
ed with  the  circumstances  will  rather  relieve  her. ' ' 

11  Right,"  said  her  father,  "so  it  will,  Willy,  so  it  will, 
especially,  thank  God,  as  there  has  been  no  harm  done. 
Look  at  this  now  !  Get  away,  you  saucy  baggage  !  Your 
poor  loving  father  has  only  just  escaped  being  shot,  and 
now  he  runs  the  risk  of  being  strangled." 

11  Dear,  dear  papa,"  she  said,  "  who  could  have  thought 
of  injuring  you — you  with  your  angry  tongue,  but  your  gen- 
erous and  charitable  and  noble  heart?"  and  again  she 
wound  her  exquisite  and  lovely  arms  about  his  neck  and 
kissed  him,  whilst  a  fresh  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  Come,  Helen — come,  love,  be  quiet  now,  or  I  shall  not 
tell  you  any  thing  more  about  my  rescue  by  that  gallant 
young  fellow  standing  before  you." 

This  was  followed,  on  her  part,  by  another  glance  at 
Reilly,  and  the  glance  was  as  speedily  followed  by  a  blush, 
and  again  a  host  of  tumultuous  emotions  crowded  around 
his  heart. 

The  old  man,  placing  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  kissed 
and  patted  her,  after  which  he  related  briefly,  and  in  such 
a  way  as  not,  if  possible,  to  excite  her  afresh,  the  circum- 
stances with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted.     At 


4  6  WILLY  REILLY. 

the  close,  however,  when  he  came  to  the  part  which  Reilly 
had  borne  in  the  matter,  and  dwelt  at  more  length  on  his 
intrepidity  and  spirit,  and  the  energy  of  character  and  cour- 
age with  which  he  quelled  the  terrible  Rapparee,  he  was 
obliged  to  stop  for  a  moment,  and  say, 

11  Why,  Helen,  whit  is  the  matter,  my  darling  ?  Are  you 
getting  ill  again  ?  Your  little  heart  is  going  at  a  gallop- 
bless  me,  how  it  pit-a-pats.  There,  now,  you've  heard  it  all 
— here  I  am,  safe — and  there  stands  the  gentleman  to 
whom,  under  God,  we  are  both  indebted  for  it.  And  now 
let  us  have  dinner,  darling,  for  we  have  not  dined." 

Apologies  on  the  part  of  Reilly,  who  really  had  dined, 
were  flung  to  the  winds  by  the  old  squire. 

1 '  What  matter,  Willy  ?  what  matter,  man  ? — sit  at  the 
table,  pick  something — curse  it,  we  won't  eat  you.  Your 
dress  ?  never  mind  your  dress.  I  am  sure  Helen  here  will 
not  find  fault  with  it.  Come,  Helen,  use  your  influence, 
love.  And  you,  sir,  Willy  Reilly,  give  her  your  arm." 
This  he  added  in  consequence  of  dinner  having  been  an- 
nounced while  he  spoke  ;  and  so  they  passed  into  the  din- 
ing-room. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DARING    ATTEMPT    OF    THE    RED     RAPPAREE — MYSTERIOUS 
DISAPPEARANCE    OF    HIS    GANG — THE    AVOWAL. 

WE  must  go  back  a  little.  When  Helen  sank  under  the 
dreadful  intelligence  of  the  attempt  made  to  assassinate 
her  father,  we  stated  at  the  time  that  she  was  not  absolutely 
insensible  ;  and  this  was  the  fact.  Reilly,  already  enraptured 
by  such  wonderful  grace  and  beauty  as  the  highest  flight  of 
his  imagination  could  never  have  conceived,  when  called 
upon  by  her  father  to  carry  her  to  the  sofa,  could  scarcely 
credit  his  senses  that  such  a  lovely  and  precious  burden 
should  ever  be  entrusted  to  him,  much  less  borne  in  his 
very  arms.  In  order  to  prevent  her  from  falling,  he  was 
literally  obliged  to  throw  them  around  her',  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  to   press  her — for  the  purpose  of  supporting  her — 


WILLY  REILLY.  47 

against  his  heart,  the  pulsations  of  which  were  going  at  a 
tremendous  speed.  There  was,  in  fact,  something  so  soft, 
so  pitiable,  so  beautiful,  and  at  the  same  time  so  exquisitely 
pure  and  fragrant,  in  this  lovely  creature,  as  her  head  lay 
drooping  on  his  shoulder,  her  pale  cheek  literally  lying 
against  his,  that  it  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at  that  the 
beatings  of  his  heart  were  accelerated  to  an  unusual  degree. 
Now  she,  from  her  position  upon  his  bosom,  necessarily  felt 
this  rapid  action  of  its  tenant  ;  when,  therefore,  her  father, 
after  her  recovery,  on  reciting  for  her  the  fearful  events  of 
the  evening,  and  dwelling  upon  Reilly's  determination  and 
courage,  expressed  alarm  at  the  palpitations  of  her  heart,  a 
glance  passed  between  them  which  each,  once  and  forever, 
understood.  She  had  felt  the  agitation  of  /lis,  who  had 
risked  his  life  in  defence  of  her  father,  for  in  this  shape  the 
old  man  had  truly  put  it  ;  and  now  she  knew  from  her 
father's  observations,  as  his  arm  lay  upon  her  own,  that  the 
interest  which  his  account  of  Reilly's  chivalrous  conduct 
throughout  the  whole  affair  had  excited  in  it  were  discovered. 
In  this  case  heart  spoke  to  heart,  and  by  the  time  they  sat 
down  to  dinner,  each  felt  conscious  that  their  passion,  brief 
as  was  the  period  of  their  acquaintance,  had  become,  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  the  uncontrollable  destiny  of  their  lives. 

William  Reilly  was  the  descendant  of  an  old  and  noble 
Irish  family.  His  ancestors  had  gone  through  all  the  vicis- 
situdes and  trials,  and  been  engaged  in  most  of  the  civil 
broils  and  wars,  which,  in  Ireland,  had  characterized  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth.  As  we  are  not  disposed  to  enter  into  a 
disquisition  upon  the  history  of  that  stormy  period,  unless 
to  say  that  we  believe  in  our  souls  both  parties  were  equally 
savage  and  inhuman,  and  that  there  was  not,  literally,  a  toss 
up  between  them,  we  have  only  to  add  that  Reilly's  family, 
at  least  that  branch  of  it  to  which  he  belonged,  had  been 
reduced  by  the  ruin  that  resulted  from  the  civil  wars,  and 
the  confiscations  peculiar  to  the  times.  His  father  had 
made  a  good  deal  of  money  abroad  in  business,  but  feeling 
that  melancholy  longing  for  his  native  soil,  for  the  dark 
mountains  and  the  green  fields  of  his  beloved  country,  he 
returned  to  it,  and  having  taken  a  large  farm  of  about  a 
thousand  acres,  under  a  peculiar  tenure,  which  we  shall 
mention  ere  we  close,  he  devoted  himself  to  pasturage  and 
agriculture.     Old  Reilly  had  been  for  some  years  dead,  and 


48  WILLY  REILLY. 

his  eldest  son,  William,  was  now  not  only  the  head  of  his 
immediate  family,  but  of  that  great  branch  of  it  to  which 
he  belonged,  although  he  neither  claimed  nor  exercised  the 
honor.  In  Reilly,  many  of  those  irreconcilable  points  of 
character,  which  scarcely  ever  meet  in  the  disposition  of  any 
but  an  Irishman,  were  united.  He  was  at  once  mild  and 
impetuous  ;  under  peculiar  circumstances,  humble  and  un- 
assuming, but  in  others,  proud  almost  to  a  fault  ;  a  bitter 
foe  to  oppression  in  every  sense,  and  to  bigotry  in  every 
creed.  He  was  highly  educated,  and  as  perfect  a  master  of 
French,  Spanish,  and  German,  as  he  was  of  either  English 
or  Irish,  both  of  which  he  spoke  with  equal  fluency  and 
purity.  To  his  personal  courage  we  need  not  make  any 
further  allusion.  On  many  occasions  it  had  been  well  tested 
on  the  Continent.  He  was  an  expert  and  unrivalled  swords- 
man, and  a  first-rate  shot,  whether  with  the  pistol  or  fowl- 
ing-piece. At  every  athletic  exercise  he  was  matchless  ; 
and  one  great  cause  of  his  extraordinary  popularity  among 
the  peasantry  was  the  pleasure  he  took  in  promoting  the 
exercise  of  such  manly  sports  among  them.  In  his  person 
he  combined  great  strength  with  remarkable  grace  and  ease. 
The  wonderful  symmetry  of  his  form  took  away  apparently 
from  his  size  ;  but  on  looking  at  and  examining  him  closely, 
you  felt  surprised  at  the  astonishing  fulness  of  his  propor- 
tions and  the  prodigious  muscular  power  which  lay  under 
such  deceptive  elegance.  As  for  his  features,  they  were  re- 
plete with  that  manly  expression  which  changes  with,  and 
becomes  a  candid  exponent  of,  every  feeling  that  influences 
the  heart.  His  mouth  was  fine,  and  his  full  red  lips  exqui- 
sitely chiselled  ;  his  chin  was  full  of  firmness  ;  and  his  large 
dark  eyes,  though  soft,  mellow,  and  insinuating,  had  yet  a 
sparkle  in  them  that  gave  evidence  of  a  fiery  spirit  when 
provoked,  as  well  as  of  a  high  sense  of  self-respect  and 
honor.  His  complexion  was  slightly  bronzed  by  residence 
in  continental  climates,  a  circumstance  that  gave  a  warmth 
and  mellowness  to  his  features,  which,  when  taken  into  con- 
sideration with  his  black,  clustering  locks,  and  the  snowy 
whiteness  of  his  forehead,  placed  him  in  the  very  highest 
order  of  handsome  men. 

Such  was  our  hero,  the  fame  of  whose  personal  beauty,  as 
well  as  that  of  the  ever-memorable  Coolecn  Bawn,  is  yet  a 
tradition  in  the  country. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  49 

On  this  occasion  the  dinner-party  consisted  only  of  the 
squire,  his  daughter,  and  Reilly.  The  old  man,  on  reflect- 
ing that  he  was  now  safe,  felt  his  spirits  revive  apace.  His 
habits  of  life  were  jolly  and  convivial,  but  not  actually  in- 
temperate, although  it  must  be  admitted  that  on  some  occa- 
sions he  got  into  the  debatable  ground.  To  those  who  did 
not  know  him,  and  who  were  acquainted  through  common 
report  only  with  his  unmitigated  abuse  of  Popery,  he  was 
looked  upon  as  an  oppressive  and  overbearing  tyrant,  who 
would  enforce,  to  the  furthest  possible  stretch  of  severity,  the 
penal  enactments  then  in  existence  against  Roman  Catholics. 
And  this,  indeed,  was  true,  so  far  as  any  one  was  concerned 
from  whom  he  imagined  himself  to  have  received  an  injury  ; 
against  such  he  was  a  vindictive  tyrant,  and  a  most  impla- 
cable persecutor.  By  many,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  con- 
sidered as  an  eccentric  man,  with  a  weak  head,  but  a  heart 
that  often  set  all  his  anti-Catholic  prejudices  at  complete 
defiance. 

At  dinner  the  squire  had  most  of  the  conversation  to 
himself,  his  loquacity  and  good-humor  having  been  very 
much  improved  by  a  few  glasses  of  his  rich  old  Madeira. 
His  daughter,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  frequently  in  a 
state  of  abstraction,  and,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  found 
herself  incapable  of  answering  several  questions  which  he  put 
to  her.  Ever  and  anon  the  timid,  blushing  glance  was  direct- 
ed at  Reilly,  by  whom  it  was  returned  with  a  significance  that 
went  directly  to  her  heart.  Both,  in  fact,  appeared  to  be 
influenced  by  some  secret  train  of  thought  that  seemed  quite 
at  variance  with  the  old  gentleman's  garrulity. 

11  Well,"  said  he,  "  here  we  are,  thank  God,  all  safe  ;  and 
it  is  to  you,  Willy,  we  owe  it.  Come,  man,  take  off  your 
wine.     Isn't  he  a  fine  young  fellow,  Helen  ?" 

Helen's  heart,  at  the  moment,  had  followed  her  eyes,  and 
she  did  not  hear  him. 

11  Hallo  !  what  the  deuce  !  By  the  banks  of  the  Boyne,  T 
believe  the  girl  has  lost  her  hearing.  I  say,  Helen,  isn't 
Willy  Reilly  here,  that  prevented  you  from  being  an  orphan, 
a  fine  young  fellow  ?" 

A  sudden  rosy  blush  suffused  her  whole  neck  and  face  on 
hearing  this  blunt  and  inconsiderate  question. 

11  What,  darling,  have  you  not  heard  me  ?" 

"  If  Mr.  Reilly  were  not  present,  papa,  I  might  give  an 


5°  WILLY  REILLY. 

opinion  on  that  subject  ;  but  I  trust  you  will  excuse  me 
now." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so  ;  there's  no  getting  women  to  speak 
to  the  point.  At  all  events,  I  would  give  more  than  I'll 
mention  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  as  good-looking  a 
specimen  of  a  man  ;  I'll  engage,  if  he  was,  you  would  have 
no  objection  to  say jr^,  my  girl." 

"  I  look  to  the  disposition,  papa,  to  the  moral  feelings 
and  principles,  more  than  to  the  person." 

"  Well,  Helen,  that's  right  too — all  right,  darling,  and  on 
that  account  Sir  Robert  must  and  ought  to  be  a  favorite. 
He  is  not  yet  forty,  and  for  this  he  is  himself  my  authority, 
and  forty  is  the  prime  of  life  ;  yet,  with  an  immense  fortune 
and  strong  temptations,  he  has  never  launched  out  into  a 
single  act  of  imprudence  or  folly.  No,  Helen,  he  never 
sowed  a  peck  of  wild  oats  in  his  life.  He  is,  on  the  con- 
trary, sober,  grave,  silent — a  little  too  much  so,  by  the  way 
— cautious,  prudent,  and  saving  No  man  knows  the  value 
of  money  better,  nor  can  contrive  to  make  it  go  further. 
Then,  as  for  managing  a  bargain — upon  my  soul,  I  don't  think 
he  treated  me  well,  though,  in  the  swop  of  '  Hop-and-go-con- 
stant '  against  my  precious  bit  of  blood,  '  Pat  the  Spanker.' 
He  made  me  pay  him  twenty-five  pounds  boot  for  an  old — 
But  you  shall  see  him,  Reilly,  you  shall  see  him,  Willy,  and 
if  ever  there  was  a  greater  take  in — you  needn't  smile, 
Helen,  nor  look  at  Willy.  By  the  good  King  William  that 
saved  us  from  Pope,  and — ahem — I  beg  pardon,  Willy,  but, 
upon  my  soul,  he  took  me  completely  in.  I  say,  I  shall 
show  you  Hop-and-go-constant,  and  when  you  see  him  you'll 
admit  the  '  Hop,'  but  the  devil  a  bit  -you  will  find  of  the 
1  Go-constant.'  " 

"I  suppose  the  gentleman's  personal  appearance,  sir," 
observed  Reilly,  glancing  at  Miss  Folliard,  "  is  equal  to  his 
other  qualities." 

"Why — a — ye — s.  He's  tall  and  thin  and  serious,  with 
something  about  him,  say,  of  a  philosopher.  Isn't  that 
true.  Helen  ?" 

11  Perfectly,  papa,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile  of  arch 
humor,  which,  to  Reilly,  placed  her  character  in  a  new  light. 

"  Perfectly  true,  papa,  so  far  as  you  have  gone  ;  but  I 
trust  you  will  finish  the  portrait  for  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will.     Where  was  I  ?     Oh,  yes—tall,  thin, 


WILLY  REILLY.  51 

and  serious  ;  like  a  philosopher.  I'll  go  next  to  the  shoul- 
ders, because  Helen  seems  to  like  them — they  are  a  little 
round  or  so.  I,  myself,  wish  to  goodness  they  were  some- 
what straighter,  but  Helen  says  the  curve  is  delightful,  being 
what  painters  and  glaziers  call  the  line  of  beauty." 

A  sweet  light  laugh,  that  rang  with  the  melody  of  a  musi- 
cal bell,  broke  from  Helen  at  this  part  of  the  description,  in 
which,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  joined  by  Reilly.  The  old 
man  himself,  from  sheer  happiness  and  good-humor,  joined 
them  both,  though  utterly  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  their 
mirth. 

"Aye,  aye,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  may  laugh — by  the 
great  Boyne,  I  knew  I  would  make  you  laugh.  Well,  I'll 
go  on  ;  his  complexion  is  of  a — a — no  matter — of  a  good 
standing  color,  at  all  events  ;  his  nose,  I  grant  you,  is  as 
thin,  and  much  of  the  same  color,  as  pasteboard,  but  as  a 
set-off  to  that  it's  a  thorough  Williamite.  Isn't  that  true, 
Helen?" 

11  Yes,  papa  ;  but  I  think  King  William's  nose  was  the 
worst  feature  in  his  face,  although  that  certainly  cannot  be 
said  of  Sir  Robert." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Reilly  ?  I  wish  Sir  Robert  heard  it, 
but  I'll  tell  him — there's  a  compliment,  Helen — you're  a 
good  girl — thank  you,  Helen." 

Helen's  face  was  now  radiant  with  mirthful  enjoyment, 
whilst  at  the  same  time  Reilly  could  perceive  that  from  time 
to  time  a  deep  unconscious  sigh  would  escape  from  her, 
such  a  sigh  as  induced  him  to  infer  that  some  hidden  care 
was  at  work  with  her  heart.  This  he  at  once  imputed  to  her 
father's  determination  to  force  her  into  a  marriage  with  the 
worthy  baronet,  whom  in  his  simplicity  he  was  so  ludic- 
rously describing. 

11  Proceed,  papa,  and  finish  as  you  have  begun  it." 

11  I  will,  to  oblige  and  gratify  you,  Helen.  He  is  a  little 
close  about  the  knees,  Mr.  Reilly — a  little  close  about  the 
knees,  Willy." 

11  And  about  the  heart,  papa,"  added  his  daughter,  who, 
for  the  life  of  her,  could  not  restrain  the  observation. 

"  It's  no  fault  to  know  the  value  of  money,  my  dear 
child.  However,  let  me  go  on — close  about  the  knees,  but 
that's  a  proof  of  strength,  because  they  support  one  an- 
other :  every  one  knows  that." 


52  WILLY  REILLY. 

11  But  his  arms,  papa  ?" 

11  You  see,  Reilly,  you  see,  Willy,"  said  the  squire,  nod- 
ding in  the  direction  of  his  daughter,  "  not  a  bad  sign  that, 
and  yet  she  pretends  not  to  care  about  him.  She  is  grati- 
fied, evidently.  Ah,  Helen,  Helen  !  it's  hard  to  know 
women. ' ' 

11  But  his  arms,  papa  ?" 

11  Well,  then,  I  wish  to  goodness  you  would  allow  me  to 
skip  that  part  of  the  subject — they  are  an  awful  length, 
Willy,  I  grant.  I  allow  the  fact,  it  cannot  be  denied,  they 
are  of  an  awful  length." 

"  It  will  give  him  the  greater  advantage  in  over-reaching, 
papa." 

1 '  Well,  as  to  his  arms,  upon  my  soul,  Willy,  I  know  no 
more  what  to  do  with  them — " 

'*  Than  he  does  himself,  papa." 

11  Just  so,  Helen  ;  they  hang  about  him  like  those  of  a 
skeleton  on  wires  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  a  neck 
that  always  betokens  true  blood,  long  and  thin  like  that  of 
a  racer.  Altogether  he's  a  devilish  interesting  man,  steady, 
prudent,  and  sober.  I  never  saw  him  drink  a  third  glass 
of—  " 

11  In  the  meantime,  papa,"  observed  Helen,  "  in  the  en- 
thusiasm of  your  description  you  are  neglecting  Mr.  Reilly." 

Ah,  love,  love  !  in  how  many  minute  points  can  you  make 
yourself  understood  ! 

11  By  the  great  William,  and  so  I  am.  Come,  Willy,  help 
yourself" — and  he  pushed  the  bottle  towards  him  as  he 
spoke. 

And  why,  gentle  reader,  did  Reilly  fill  his  glass  on  that 
particular  occasion  until  it  became  literally  a  brimmer  ?  We 
know — but  if  you  are  ignorant  of  it  we  simply  beg  you  to 
remain  so  ;  and  why,  on  putting  the  glass  to  his  lips,  did 
his  large  dark  eyes  rest  upon  her  with  that  deep  and  melting 
glance  ?  Why,  too,  was  that  glance  returned  with  the  quick- 
ness of  thought  before  her  lids  dropped,  and  the  conscious 
blush  suffused  her  face  ?  The  solution  of  this  we  must  also 
leave  to  your  own  ingenuity. 

"Well,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "steady,  prudent,  sober 
— of  a  fine  old  family,  and  with  an  estate  of  twelve  thousand 
a  year — what  do  you  think  of  that,  Willy  ?  Isn't  she  a 
fortunate  girl  ?" 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  53 

"  Taking  his  virtues  and  very  agreeable  person  into  con- 
sideration, sir,  I  think  so,"  replied  Reilly  in  atone  of  slight 
sarcasm,  which  was  only  calculated  to  reach  one  of  his  au- 
dience. 

"  You  hear  that,  Helen — you  hear  what  Mr.  Reilly — what 
Willy — says.  The  fact  is,  I'll  call  you  nothing  but  Willy  in 
future,  Willy — you  hear  what  he  says,  darling  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  papa — and  understand  it  perfectly." 

11  That's  my  girl.  Twelve  thousand  a  year — and  has 
money  lent  out  at  every  rate  of  interest  from  six  per  cent 

up-" 

11  And  yet  I  cannot  consider  him  as  interesting  on  that 
account,  papa." 

"  You  do,  Helen — nonsense,  my  love — you  do,  I  tell  you 
— it's  all  make-believe  when  you  speak  to  the  contrary — 
don't  you  call  the  curve  on  his  shoulders  the  line  of  beauty  ? 
Come — come — you  know  I  only  want  to  make  you  happy. ' ' 

"It  is  time,  papa,  that  I  should  withdraw,"  she  replied, 
rising. 

Reilly  rose  to  open  the  door. 

"  Good-night,  papa — dear,  dear  papa,"  she  added,  put- 
ting her  snowy  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him  tenderly. 
"  1  know,"  she  added,  "  that  the  great  object  of  your  life 
is  to  make  your  Coolecn  Bawn  happy — and  in  doing  so,  dear 
papa — there  now  is  another  kiss  for  you — a  little  bribe,  papa 
— in  doing  so,  consult  her  heart  as  well  as  your  own.  Good- 
night." 

"  Good-night,  my  treasure." 

During  this  little  scene  of  affectionate  tenderness  Reilly 
stood  holding  the  door  open,  and  as  she  was  going  out,  as  if 
recollecting  herself,  she  turned  to  him  and  said,  "  Pardon 
me,  Mr.  Reilly,  I  fear  you  must  think  me  ungrateful  ;  I 
have  not  yet  thanked  you  for  the  service — a  service  indeed 
so  important  that  no  language  could  find  expression  for  it 
— which  you  have  rendered  to  dear  papa,  and  to  me.  But, 
Mr.  Reilly,  I  pray  you  do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  or 
insensible,  for,  indeed,  I  am  neither.  Suffer  me  to  feel 
what  I  owe  you,  and  do  not  blame  me  if  I  cannot  express 
it." 

11  If  it  were  not  for  the  value  of  the  life  which  it  is  prob- 
able I  have  saved,  and  if  it  wrere  not  that  your  happiness 
was  so  deeply  involved  in  it,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  would  say 


54  WILLY  XL  ILLY. 

that  you  overrate  what  I  have  done  this  evening.  But  I 
confess  I  am  myself  now  forced  to  see  the  value  of  my 
services,  and  I  thank  heaven  for  having  made  me  the  hum- 
ble instrument  of  saving  your  father's  life,  not  only  for  his 
own  sake,  Miss  Folliard,  but  for  yours.  I  now  feel  a  double 
debt  of  gratitude  to  heaven  for  it." 

The  Coolecn  Bawn  did  not  speak,  but  the  tears  ran  down 
her  cheeks.  "Good-night,  sir,"  she  said.  "I  am  utterly 
incapable  of  thanking  you  as  you  deserve,  and  as  I  ought  to 
thank  you.     Good-night!" 

She  extended  her  small  snowy  hand  to  him  as  she  spoke. 
Reilly  took  it  in  his,  and  by  some  involuntary  impulse  he 
could  not  avoid  giving  it  a  certain  degree  of  pressure.  The 
fact  is,  it  was  such  a  hand — so  white — so  small — so  soft — so 
warm — so  provocative  of  a  squeeze — that  he  felt  his  own 
pressing  it,  he  knew  not  how  nor  wherefore,  at  least  he 
thought  so  at  the  time  ;  that  is  to  say,  if  we  were  capable  of 
thinking  distinctly  of  any  thing.  But  heaven  and  earth  ! 
Was  it  true  ?  No  delusion  ?  No  dream  ?  The  pressure  re- 
turned !  the  slightest,  the  most  gentle,  the  most  delicate 
pressure — the  barely  perceptible  pressure  !  Yes  !  it  was 
beyond  all  doubt  ;  for  although  the  act  itself  was  light  as 
delicacy  and  modesty  could  make  it,  yet  the  spirit — the 
lightening  spirit — which  it  shot  into  his  bounding  and  enrap- 
tured heart  could  not  be  for  a  moment  mistaken. 

As  she  was  running  up  the  stairs  she  returned,  however, 
and  again  approaching  her  father,  said — whilst  Reilly  could 
observe  that  her  cheek  was  flushed  with  a  feeling  that  seemed 
to  resemble  ecstacy — "  Papa,"  said  she,  "  what  a  stupid  girl 
I  am  !     I  scarcely  know  what  I  am  saying  or  doing." 

"  By  the  great  Boyne, "  replied  her  father,  "  I'll  describe 
him  to  you  every  night  in  the  week.  I  knew  the  curve — the 
line  of  beauty — would  get  into  your  head  ;  but  what  is  it, 
darling  ?" 

"  Will  you  and  Mr.  Reilly  have  tea  in  the  drawing-room, 
or  shall  I  send  it  down  to  you  ?" 

"I  am  too  comfortable  in  my  easy  chair,  dear  Helen  : 
no,  send  it  down." 

"  After  the  shock  you  have  received,  papa,  perhaps  you 
might  wish  to  have  it  from  the  hand  of  your  own  Coolcen 
Bawn?" 

As  the  old  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  they  literally 


WILLY  REILLY,  55 

danced  with  delight.  "  Ah,  VvTilly  !"  said  he,  "  is  it  any  won- 
der 1  should  love  her  ?" 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  replied  Reilly,  "  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  know  her,  and  not  to  love  her.     I  now  believe  it." 

"Thank  you,  Reilly;  thank  you,  Willy;  shake  hands. 
Come,  Helen,  shake  hands  with  him.  That's  a  compliment. 
Shake  hands  with  him,  darling.  There,  now,  that's  all 
right.  Yes,  my  love,  by  all  means,  come  down  and  give  us 
tea  here." 

Innocent  old  man — the  die  is  now  irrevocably  cast  !  That 
mutual  pressure,  and  that  mutual  glance.  Alas  !  alas  !  how 
strange  and  incomprehensible  is  human  destiny  ! 

After  she  had  gone  upstairs  the  old  man  said,  "You 
see,  Willy,  how  my  heart  and  soul  are  in  that  angelic  crea- 
ture. The  great  object,  the  great  delight  of  her  life,  is  to 
anticipate  all  my  wants,  to  study  whatever  is  agreeable  to 
me — in  fact,  to  make  me  happy.  And  she  succeeds. 
Every  thing  she  does  pleases  me.  By  the  grave  of  Schom- 
berg,  she's  beyond  all  price.  It  is  true  we  never  had  a 
baronet  in  the  family,  and  it  would  gratify  me  to  hear 
her  called  Lady  Whitecraft  ;  still,  I  say,  I  don't  care  for 
rank  or  ambition  ;  nor  would  I  sacrifice  my  child's  happiness 
to  either.  And,  between  you  and  me,  if  she  declines  to 
have  him,  she  shan't  have  him,  that's  all  that's  to  be  said 
about  it.  He's  quite  round  in  the  shoulders  ;  and  yet  so 
inconsistent  are  women  that  she  calls  a  protuberance  that 
resembles  the  letter  C  the  line  of  beauty.  Then  again  he 
bit  me  in  '  Hop-and-go-constant  ;  '  and  you  know  yourself, 
Willy,  that  no  person  likes  to  be  bit,  especially  by  the  man 
he  intends  for  his  son-in-law.  If  he  gives  me  the  bite  before 
marriage,  what  would  he  not  do  after  it  ?' ' 

"  This,  sir,  is  a  subject,"  replied  Reilly,  "  on  which  I 
must  decline  to  give  an  opinion  ;  but  I  think  that  no  father 
should  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  his  daughter  to  his  own 
inclinations.  However,  setting  this  matter  aside,  I  have 
something  of  deep  importance  to  mention  to  you." 

"  To  me  !     Good  heavens  !     What  is  it  ?" 

11  The  Red  Rapparee,  sir,  has  formed  a  plan  to  rob,  pos- 
sibly to  murder,  you,  and  what  is  worse — " 

"  Worse  !  Why,  what  the  deuce — worse  !  Why,  what 
could  be  worse  ?' ' 

11  The  dishonor  of  your  daughter.     It  is  his  intention  to 


56  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

carry  her  off  to  the  mountains  ;  but  pardon  me,  I  cannot 
bear  to  dwell  upon  the  diabolical  project." 

The  old  man  fell  back,  pale,  and  almost  insensible,  in  his 
chair. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  sir,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "  he  will  be 
disappointed.     I  have  taken  care  of  that." 

11  But,  Mr.  Reilly,  what — how — for  heaven's  sake  tell  me 
what  you  know  about  it.  Are  you  sure  of  this  ?  How  did 
you  come  to  hear  of  it  ?  Tell  me — tell  me  every  thing 
about  it  !  We  must  prepare  to  receive  the  villains — we 
must  instantly  get  assistance.  My  child — my  life — my 
Helen,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  this  monster  !" 

"Hear  me,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  "hear  me,  and  you  will 
perceive  that  I  have  taken  measures  to  frustrate  all  his  de- 
signs, and  to  have  him  a  prisoner  before  to-morrow's  sun 
arises." 

He  then  related  to  him  the  plan  laid  by  the  Red  Rap- 
paree,  as  overheard  by  Tom  Steeple,  and  as  it  was  commu- 
nicated to  himself  by  the  same  individual  subsequently, 
after  which  he  proceeded  : 

"  The  fact  is,  sir,  I  have  sent  the  poor  fool,  who  is  both 
faithful  and  trustworthy,  to  summon  here  forty  or  fifty  of 
my  laborers  and  tenants.  They  must  be  placed  in  the  out- 
houses, and  whatever  arms  and  ammunition  you  can  spare, 
in  addition  to  the  weapons  which  they  shall  bring  along 
with  them,  must  be  made  available.  I  sent  orders  that  they 
should  be  here  about  nine  o'clock.  I,  myself,  will  remain  in 
this  house,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that  your  life,  your 
property,  and  your  child  shall  be  all  safe.  I  know  the 
strength  of  the  ruffian's  band  ;  it  only  consists  of  about 
twelve  men,  or  rather  twelve  devils,  but  he  and  they  will 
find  themselves  mistaken." 

Before  Miss  Folliard  came  down  to  make  tea,  Reilly  had 
summoned  the  servants,  and  given  them  instructions  as  to 
their  conduct  during  the  expected  attack.  Having  arranged 
this,  he  went  to  the  yard,  and  found  a  large  body  of  his  ten- 
ants armed  with  such  rude  weapons  as  they  could  procure  ; 
for,  at  this  period,  it  was  a  felony  for  a  Roman  Catholic  to 
have  or  carry  arms  at  all.  The  old  squire,  however,  was 
well  provided  in  that  respect,  and,  accordingly,  such  as 
could  be  spared  from  the  house  were  distributed  among 
them.     Mr.   Folliard  himself  felt  his  spirit  animated  by  a 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  57 

sense  of  the  danger,  and  bustled  about  with  uncommon 
energy  and  activity,  considering  what  he  had  suffered  in  the 
course  of  the  evening.  At  all  events,  they  both  resolved  to 
conceal  the  matter  from  Helen  till  the  last  moment,  in  order 
to  spare  her  the  terror  and  alarm  which  she  must  necessa/ily 
feel  on  hearing  of  the  contemplated  violence.  At  tea,  how- 
ever, she  could  not  avoid  observing  that  something  had  dis- 
turbed her  father,  who,  from  his  naturally  impetuous  char- 
acter, ejaculated,  from  time  to  time,  "  The  bloodthirsty 
scoundrel  ! — murdering  ruffian  !  We  shall  hang  him, 
though  ;  we  can  hang  him  for  the  conspiracy.  Would  the 
fool's,  Tom  Steeples',  evidence  be  taken,  do  you  think  ?" 

11  I  fear  not,  sir,"  replied  Reilly.  "  In  the  meantime, 
don't  think  of  it,  don't  further  distress  yourself  about  it." 

11  To  think  of  attacking  my  house,  though  ;  and  if  it  were 
only  I  myself  that — however,  we  are  prepared,  that's  one  com- 
fort ;  we  are  prepared,  and  let  them — hem  ! — Helen,  my  dar- 
ling, now  that  we've  had  our  tea,  will  you  retire  to  your  own 
room.  I  wish  to  talk  to  Mr.  Reilly  here,  on  a  particular 
and  important  subject,  in  which  you  yourself  are  deeply 
concerned.  Withdraw,  my  love,  but  don't  go  to  bed  until 
I  see  you  again." 

Helen  went  upstairs  with  a  light  foot  and  a  bounding 
heart.  A  certain  hope,  like  a  dream  of  far-off  and  unex- 
pected happiness,  rushed  into  and  filled  her  bosom  with  a 
crowd  of  sensations  so  delicious  that,  on  reaching  her  own 
room,  she  felt  completely  overpowered  by  them,  and  was 
only  relieved  by  a  burst  of  tears.  There  was  now  but  one 
image  before  her  imagination,  but  one  image  impressed 
upon  her  pure  and  fervent  heart  ;  that  image  was  the  first 
that  love  had  ever  stamped  there,  and  the  last  that  suffering, 
sorrow,  madness,  and  death  were  ever  able  to  tear  from  it. 

When  the  night  had  advanced  to  the  usual  hour  for  retir- 
ing to  rest,  it  was  deemed  necessary  to  make  Helen  ac- 
quainted with  the  meditated  outrage,  in  order  to  prevent  the 
consequences  of  a  nocturnal  alarm  for  which  she  might  be 
altogether  unprepared.  This  was  accordingly  done,  and 
her  natural  terrors  were  soothed  and  combated  by  Reilly 
and  her  father,  who  succeeded  in  reviving  her  courage,  and 
in  enabling  her  to  contemplate  what  was  to  happen  with  tol- 
erable composure. 

Until  about  the  hour  of  two  o'clock  every  thing  remained 


5$  WILLY  RELLLY. 

silent.  Nobody  went  to  bed — the  male  servants  were  all 
prepared — the  females,  some  in  tears,  and  others  sustaining 
and  comforting  those  who  were  more  feeble-hearted.  Miss 
Folliard  was  in  her  own  room,  dressed.  At  about  half  past 
two  she  heard  a  stealthy  foot,  and  having  extinguished  the 
light  in  her  apartment,  with  great  presence  of  mind  she 
rang  the  bell,  whilst  at  the  same  moment  her  door  was  bro- 
ken in,  and  a  man,  as  she  knew  by  his  step,  entered.  In 
the  meantime  the  house  was  alarmed ;  the  man  having 
hastily  projected  his  arms  about  in  several  directions,  as  if 
searching  for  her,  instantly  retreated,  a  scuffle  was  heard 
outside  on  the  lobby,  and  when  lights  and  assistance  ap- 
peared, there  were  found  eight  or  ten  men  variously  armed, 
all  of  whom  proved  to  be  a  portion  of  the  guard  selected  by 
Reilly  to  protect  the  house  and  family.  These  men  main- 
tained that  they  had  seen  the  Red  Rapparee  on  the  roof  of 
the  house,  through  which  he  had  descended,  and  that  hav- 
ing procured  a  ladder  from  the  farmyard,  they  entered  a 
back  window,  at  a  distance  of  about  forty  feet  from  the 
ground,  in  the  hope  of  securing  his  person — that  they  came 
in  contact  with  some  powerful  man  in  the  dark,  who  dis- 
appeared from  among  them — but  by  what  means  he  had 
contrived  to  escape  they  could  not  guess.  This  was  the 
substance  of  all  they  knew  or  understood  upon  the  subject. 

The  whole  house  was  immediately  and  thoroughly 
searched,  and  no  trace  of  him  cou'd  be  found  until  they 
came  to  the  skylight,  which  was  discovered  to  be  opened — 
wrenched  off  the  hinges — and  lying  on  the  roof  at  a  distance 
of  two  cr  three  yards  from  its  place. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  the  Rapparee  and  his  party 
had  taken  the  alarm.  In  an  instant  those  who  were  outside 
awaiting  to  pounce  upon  them  in  the  moment  of  attack  got 
orders  to  scour  the  neighborhood,  and  if  possible  to  secure 
the  Rapparee  at  every  risk  ;  and  as  an  inducement  the 
squire  himself  offered  to  pay  the  sum  of  five  hundred 
pounds  to  any  one  who  should  bring  him  to  Corbo  Castle,* 
which  was  the  name  of  his  residence.  This  was  accordingly 
attempted,  the  country  far  and  wide  was  searched,  pursuit 
given  in  every  direction,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Not  only 
was  the  failure  complete,  but,  what  was  still  more  unac- 

*  This  name  is  fictitious. 


WILLY  REILLY.  59 

countable  and  mysterious,  no  single  mark  or  trace  of  them 
could  be  found.  This  escape,  however,  did  not  much  sur- 
prise the  inhabitants  of  the  country  at  large,  as  it  was  only 
in  keeping  with  many  of  a  far  more  difficult  character  which 
the  Rapparee  had  often  effected.  The  only  cause  to  which 
it  could  be  ascribed  was  the  supposed  fact  of  his  having 
taken  such  admirable  precautions  against  surprise  as  enabled 
his  gang  to  disappear  upon  a  preconcerted  plan  the  moment 
the  friendly  guards  were  discovered,  whilst  he  himself  dar- 
ingly attempted  to  secure  the  squire's  cash  and  his  daugh- 
ter. 

Whether  the  supposition  was  right  or  wrong  will  appear 
subsequently  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  we  may  add  here,  that 
the  event  in  question,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  burglars, 
was  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  our  lovers,  for  such  they  were 
in  the  tenderest  and  most  devoted  sense  of  that  strange  and 
ungovernable  passion. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  squire  was  so  completely  ex- 
hausted by  the  consequences  of  watching,  anxiety,  and  want 
of  rest,  that  he  felt  himself  overcome  by  sleep,  and  was 
obliged  to  go  to  bed.  Before  he  went,  however,  he  made 
Reilly  promise  that  he  would  not  go  until  he  had  break- 
fasted, then  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  thanked  him 
again  and  again  for  the  deep  and  important  obligations  he 
had  imposed  upon  him  and  his  child,  and  concluded  by  giv- 
ing him  a  general  invitation  to  his  house,  the  doors  of 
which,  he  said,  as  well  as  the  heart  of  its  owner,  should  be 
ever  ready  to  receive  him. 

11  As  for  Helen,  here,"  said  he,  "I  leave  her  to  thank  you 
herself,  which  I  am  sure  she  will  do  in  a  manner  becoming 
the  services  you  have  rendered  her,  before  you  go."  She 
then  kissed  him  tenderly,  and  he  retired  to  rest. 

At  breakfast,  Reilly  and  Miss  Folliard  were,  of  course, 
alone,  if  we  may  say  so.  Want  of  rest  and  apprehension 
had  given  a  cast  of  paleness  to  her  features  that,  so  far  from 
diminishing,  only  added  a  new  and  tender  character  to  her 
beauty.  Reilly  observed  the  exquisite  loveliness  of  her 
hand  as  she  poured  out  the  tea  ;  and  when  he  remembered 
the  gentle  but  significant  pressure  which  it  had  given  to  his, 
more  than  once  or  twice,  on  the  preceding  night,  he  felt  as 
if  he  experienced  a  personal  interest  in  her  fate — as  if  their 
destinies  were  to  be  united — as  if  his  growing  spirit  could 


Go  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

enfold  hers,  and  mingle  with  it  forever.  The  love  he  felt 
for  her  pervaded  and  softened  his  whole  being  with  such  a 
feeling  of  tenderness,  timidity,  and  ecstasy,  that  his  voice, 
always  manly  and  firm,  now  became  tremulous  in  its  tones  ; 
such,  in  truth,  as  is  always  occasioned  by  a  full  and  over- 
flowing heart  when  it  trembles  at  the  very  opportunity  of 
pouring  forth  the  first  avowal  of  its  affection. 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  and  with  some 
confusion,  "  do  you  believe  in  Fate  ?" 

The  question  appeared  to  take  her  somewhat  by  surprise, 
if  one  could  judge  by  the  look  she  bestowed  upon  him  with 
her  dark,  flashing  eyes. 

"  In  Fate,  Mr.  Reilly  ?  that  is  a  subject,  I  fear,  too  deep 
for  a  girl  like  me.     I  believe  in  Providence." 

11  All  this  morning  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  subject. 
Should  it  be  Fate  that  brought  me  to  the  rescue  of  your 
father  last  night,  I  cannot  buffed  glad  of  it  ;  but  though  it 
be  a  Fate  that  has  preserved  him — and  I  thank  Almighty 
God  for  it — yet  it  is  one  that  I  fear  has  destroyed  my  happi- 
ness." 

"  Destroyed  your  happiness,  Mr.  Reilly  !  why,  how  could 
the  service  you  rendered  papa  last  night  have  such  an 
effect?" 

11  I  will  be  candid,  and  tell  you,  Miss  Folliard.  I  know 
that  what  I  am  about  to  say  will  offend  you — it  was  by  mak- 
ing me  acquainted  with  his  daughter,  and  by  bringing  me 
under  the  influence  of  beauty  which  has  unmanned — dis- 
tracted me — beauty  which  I  could  not  resist — which  has 
overcome  me — subdued  me — and  which,  because  it  is  be- 
yond my  reach  and  my  deserts,  will  occasion  me  an  un- 
happy life — how  long  soever  that  life  may  last." 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  exclaimed  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  "  this — this 
— is — I  am  quite  unprepared  for — I  mean — to  hear  that 
such  noble  and  generous  conduct  to  my  father  should  end  in 
this.  But  it  cannot  be.  Nay,  I  will  not  pretend  to  misun- 
derstand you.  After  the  service  you  have  rendered  to  him 
and  to  myself,  it  would  be  uncandid  in  me  and  unworthy  of 
you  to  conceal  the  distress  which  your  words  have  caused 
me." 

"lam  scarcely  in  a  condition  to  speak  reasonably  and 
calmly,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  I  cannot  regret  that  I  have 
unconsciously  sacrificed  my  happiness,  when  that  sacrifice 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  61 

has  saved  you  from  distress  and  grief  and  sorrow.  Now 
that  T.  know  you,  I  would  offer — lay  down — my  life,  if  the 
sacrifice  could  save  yours  from  one  moment's  care.  I  have 
often  heard  of  what  love — love  in  its  highest  and  noblest 
sense — is  able  to  do  and  to  suffer  for  the  good  and  happi- 
ness of  its  object,  but  now  I  know  it." 

She  spoke  not,  or  rather  she  was  unable  to  speak  ;  but  as 
she  pulled  out  her  snow-white  handkerchief,  Reilly  could 
observe  the  extraordinary  tremor  of  her  hands  ;  the  face, 
too,  was  deadly  pale. 

"lam  not  making  love  to  you,  Miss  Folliard,"  he  add- 
ed. "  No,  my  religion,  my  position  in  life,  a  sense  of  my 
own  unworthiness,  would  prevent  that  ;  but  I  could  not  rest 
unless  you  knew  that  there  is  one  heart  which,  in  the  midst 
of  unhappiness  and  despair,  can  understand,  appreciate, 
and  love  you.     I  urge  no  claim.     I  am  without  hope." 

The  fair  girl  (Cooleen  Bawti)  could  not  restrain  her  tears  ; 
but  wept — yes,  she  wept.  "  I  was  not  prepared  for  this," 
she  replied.  "  I  did  not  think  that  so  short  an  acquaint- 
ance could  have — Oh,  I  know  not  what  to  say — nor  how  to 
act.     My  father's  prejudices.     You  are  a  Catholic." 

"  And  will  die  one,  Miss  Folliard." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  unhappy  ?  You  do  not  deserve 
to  be  so." 

11  That  is  precisely  what  made  me  ask  you  just  now  if  you 
believed  in  fate." 

"  Oh,  I  know  not.  I  cannot  answer  such  a  question  ; 
but  why  should  you  be  unhappy,  with  your  brave,  generous, 
and  noble  heart  ?     Surely,  surely,  you  do  not  deserve  it." 

"  I  said  before  that  I  have  no  hope,  Miss  Folliard.  I 
shall  carry  with  me  my  love  of  you  through  life  ;  it  is  my 
first,  and  I  feel  it  will  be  my  last— it  will  be  the  melancholy 
light  that  will  burn  in  the  sepulchre  of  my  heart  to  show 
your  image  there.  And  now,  Miss  Folliard,  I  will  bid  you 
farewell.  Your  father  has  proffered  me  hospitality,  but  I 
have  not  strength  nor  resolution  to  accept  it.  You  now 
know  my  secret — a  hopeless  passion." 

"  Reilly,"  she  replied,  weeping  bitterly,  "  our  acquaint- 
ance has  been  short — we  have  not  seen  much  of  each  other, 
yet  I  will  not  deny  that  I  believe  you  to  be  all  that  any 
female  heart  could — pardon  me,  I  am  without  experience — I 
know  not  much  of  the  world.     You  have  travelled,  papa 


62  WILLY  REILLY. 

told  me  last  night  ;  I  do  not  wish  that  you  should  be  un- 
happy, and,  least  of  all,  that  I,  who  owe  you  so  much, 
should  be  the  occasion  of  it.  No,  you  talk  of  a  hopeless 
passion.  I  know  not  what  I  ought  to  say — but  to  the  pre- 
server of  my  father's  life,  and,  probably  my  own  honor,  I 
will  say,  be  not — but  why  should  love  be  separated  from 
truth  ?"  she  said — "  No,  Reilly,  be  not  hopeless." 

"  Oh,"  replied  Reilly,  who  had  gone  over  near  her,  "  but 
my  soul  will  not  be  satisfied  without  a  stronger  affirmation. 
This  moment  is  the  great  crisis  of  my  life  and  happiness.  I 
love  you  beyond  all  the  power  of  language  or  expression. 
You  tremble,  dear  Miss  Folliard,  and  you  weep  ;  let  me 
wipe  those  precious  tears  away.  Oh,  would  to  God  that 
you  loved  me  !" 

He  caught  her  hand — it  was  not  withdrawn — he  pressed  it 
as  he  had  done  the  evening  before.  The  pressure  was  re- 
turned— his  voice  melted  into  tenderness  that  was  conta- 
gious and  irresistible  :  "  Say,  dearest  Helen,  star  of  my  life 
and  of  my  fate,  oh,  only  say  that  I  am  not  indifferent  to 
you." 

They  were  both  standing  near  the  chimney-piece  as  he 
spoke — "  only  say,"  he  repeated,  "  that  I  am  not  indiffer- 
ent to  you." 

"Well,  then,"  she  replied,  "you  are  not  indifferent  to 
me. ' ' 

11  One  admission  more,  my  dearest  life,  and  I  am  happy 
forever.  You  love  me  ?  say  it,  dearest,  say  it — or,  stay, 
whisper  it,  whisper  it — you  love  me!" 

"  I  do,"  she  whispered  in  a  burst  of  tears. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  SAPIENT  PROJECT  FOR  OUR  HERO'S  CONVERSION — HIS 
RIVAL  MAKES  HIS  APPEARANCE,  AND  ITS  CONSE- 
QUENCES. 

WE  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  tumult  of  delight 
which    agitated    Reilly's    heart    on    his    way  home, 
after  this  tender  interview  with  the  most  celebrated  Irish 


WILLY  REILLY.  63 

beauty  of  that  period.  The  term  Coolccn  Baiun,  in  native 
Irish,  has  two  meanings,  both  of  which  were  justly  applied 
to  her,  and  met  in  her  person.  It  signifies  fair  locks,  or,  as 
it  may  be  pronounced  fair  girl ;  and  in  either  sense  is 
peculiarly  applicable  to  a  blonde  beauty,  which  she  was. 
The  name  of  Coolccn  Baivn  was  applied  to  her  by  the  popu- 
lace, whose  talent  for  finding  out  and  bestowing  epithets  in- 
dicative either  of  personal  beauty  or  deformity,  or  of  the 
qualities  of  the  mind  or  character,  be  they  good  or  evil,  is, 
in  Ireland,  singularly  felicitous.  In  the  higher  ranks, 
however,  she  was  known  as  "  The  Lily  of  the  Plains  of 
Boyne, "  and  as  such  she  was  toasted  by  all  parties,  not 
only  in  her  own  native  county,  but  throughout  Ireland,  and  at 
the  viceregal  entertainments  in  the  Castle  of  Dublin.  At 
the  time  of  which  we  write,  the  penal  laws  were  in  operation 
against  the  Roman  Catholic  population  of  the  country,  and 
her  father,  a  good-hearted  man  by  nature,  was  wordy  and 
violent  by  prejudice,  and  yet  secretly  kind  and  friendly  to 
many  of  that  unhappy  creed,  though  by  no  means  to  all.  It 
was  well  known,  however,  that  in  every  thing  that  was  gen- 
erous and  good  in  his  character,  or  in  the  discharge  of  his 
public  duties  as  a  magistrate,  he  was  chiefly  influenced  by 
the  benevolent  and  liberal  principles  of  his  daughter,  who 
was  a  general  advocate  for  the  oppressed,  and  to  whom, 
moreover,  he  could  deny  nothing.  This  accounted  for  her 
popularity,  as  it  does  for  the  extraordinary  veneration  and 
affection  with  which  her  name  and  misfortunes  are  men- 
tioned down  to  the  present  day.  The  worst  point  in  her 
father's  character  was  that  he  never  could  be  prevailed 
on  to  forgive  an  injury,  or,  at  least,  any  act  that  he  con- 
ceived to  be  such,  a  weakness  or  a  vice  which  was  the 
means  of  all  his  angelic  and  lovely  daughter's  calamities. 

Reilly,  though  full  of  fervor  and  enthusiasm,  was  yet  by 
no  means  deficient  in  strong  sense.  On  his  way  home  he 
began  to  ask  himself  in  what  this  overwhelming  passion  for 
Coolccn  Bawn  must  end.  His  religion,  he  was  well  aware, 
placed  an  impassable  gulf  between  them.  Was  it  then  gen- 
erous or  honorable  in  him  to  abuse  the  confidence  and  hos- 
pitality of  her  father,  by  engaging  the  affections  of  a  daugh- 
ter, on  whose  welfare  his  whole  happiness  was  placed,  and 
to  whom,  moreover,  he  could  not  without  committing  an 
act  of  apostasy  that  he  abhorred,  ever  be  united  as  a  hus- 


64  WILLY  REILLY. 

band  ?  Reason  and  prudence,  moreover,  suggested  to  him 
the  danger  of  his  position,  as  well  as  the  ungenerous  nature 
of  his  conduct  to  the  grateful  and  trusting  father.  But, 
away  with  reason  and  prudence — away  with  everything  but 
love.  The  rapture  of  his  heart  triumphed  over  every  argu- 
ment ;  and,  come  weal  or  woe,  he  resolved  to  win  the  far- 
famed  "  Star  of  Connaught,"  another  epithet  which  she  de- 
rived from  her  Wcnierful  and  extraordinary  beauty. 

On  approaching  his  own  house  he  met  a  woman  named 
Mary  Mahon,  whose  character  of  a  fortune-teller  was  extra- 
ordinary in  the  country,  and  whose  predictions,  come  from 
what  source  they  might,  had  gained  her  a  reputation  which 
filled  the  common  mind  with  awe  and  fear. 

"Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  "what  news  from  futurity? 
And,  by  the  way,  where  is  futurity  ?  Because  if  you  don't 
know,"  he  proceeded,  laughing,  "  I  think  I  could  tell 
you." 

11  Well,"  replied  Mary,  "  let  me  hear  it.  Where  is  it,  Mr. 
Reilly?" 

11  Why,"  he  replied,  "  just  at  the  point  of  your  own  nose, 
Mary,  and  you  must  admit  it  is  not  a  very  long  one  ;  pure 
Milesian,  Mary  ;  a  good  deal  of  the  saddle  in  its  shape." 

The  woman  stood  and  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments. 

"  My  nose  may  be  short,"  she  replied,  "  but  shorter  will 
be  the  course  of  your  happiness." 

11  Well,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  think  as  regards  my  happi- 
ness that  you  know  as  little  of  it  as  I  do  myself.  If  you 
tell  me  any  thing  that  has  passed,  I  may  give  you  some 
credit  for  the  future,  but  not  otherwise." 

"Do  you  wish  to  have  your  fortune  tould,  then,"  she 
asked,  "  upon  them  terms  ?" 

"  Come,  then,  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  What  has  happened 
me,  for  instance,  within  the  last  forty-eight  hours  ?" 

"  That  has  happened  you  within  the  last  forty-eight 
hours  that  will  make  her  you  love  the  pity  of  the  world  be- 
fore her  time.  I  see  how  it  will  happen,  for  the  complaint 
I  speak  of  is  in  the  family.  A  living  death  she  will  have, 
and  you  yourself  during  the  same  time  will  have  little  less." 

"  But  what  has  happened  me,  Mary?  " 

"  I  needn't  tell  you — you  know  it.  A  proud  heart,  and  a 
joyful  heart,  and  a  lovin'  heart,  you  carry  now,  but  it  will 
be  a  broken  heart  before  long." 


WILLY  REILLY.  65 

11  Why,  Mary,  this  is  an  evil  prophecy  ;  have  you  nothing 
good  to  foretell  ?' ' 

"  If  it's  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  know,  I  will  tell  you  :  her 
love  for  you  is  as  strong,  and  stronger,  than  death  itself  ; 
and  it  is  the  suffering  of  what  is  worse  than  death,  Willy 
Reilly,  that  will  unite  you  both  at  last. ' ' 

Reilly  started,  and  after  a  pause,  in  which  he  took  it  for 
granted  that  Mary  spoke  merely  from  one  of  those  shrewd 
conjectures  which  practised  impostors  are  so  frequently  in 
the  habit  of  hazarding,  replied,  "  That  won't  do,  Mary  ; 
you  have  told  me  nothing  yet  that  has  happened  within  the 
last  forty-eight  hours.     I  deny  the  truth  of  what  you  say." 

"  I  won't  be  long  so,  then,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  you  saved  the  life 
of  the  old  half-mad  squire  of  Corbo.  Yes,  you  saved  his 
life,  and  you  have  taken  his  daughter's  !  for  indeed  it  would 
be  better  for  her  to  die  at  wanst  than  to  suffer  what  will 
happen  to  you  and  her. ' ' 

"  Why,  what  is  to  happen  ?" 

"  You'll  know  it  too  soon,"  she  replied,  "  and  there's  no 
use  in  making  you  unhappy.  Good-by,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  if 
you  take  a  friend's  advice  you'll  give  her  up  ;  think  no 
more  of  her.  It  may  cost  you  an  aching  heart  to  do  so, 
but  by  doin'  it  you  may  save  her  from  a  great  deal  of  sor- 
row, and  both  of  you  from  a  long  and  heavy  term  of  suffer- 
ing." 

Reilly,  though  a  young  man  of  strong  reason  in  the  ordi- 
nary affairs  of  life,  and  of  a  highly  cultivated  intellect  be- 
sides, yet  felt  himself  influenced  by  the  gloomy  forebodings 
of  this  notorious  woman.  It  is  true  he  saw,  by  the  force  of 
his  own  sagacity,  that  she  had  uttered  nothing  which  any 
person  acquainted  with  the  relative  position  of  himself  and 
Cooleen  Bawn,  and  the  political  circumstances  of  the  coun- 
try, might  not  have  inferred  as  a  natural  and  probable  con- 
sequence. In  fact  he  had,  on  his  way  home,  arrived  at 
nearly  the  same  conclusion.  Marriage,  as  the  laws  of  the 
country  then  stood,  was  out  of  the  question,  and  could  not 
be  legitimately  effected.  What,  then,  must  the  consequence 
of  this  irresistible  but  ill-fated  passion  be  ?  An  elopement 
to  the  Continent  would  not  only  be  difficult  but  dangerous, 
if  not  altogether  impossible.  It  was  obviously  evident  that 
Mary  Mahon  had  drawn  her  predictions  from  the  same  cir- 
cumstances which  led  himself  to  similar  conclusions  ;  yet, 


66  WILLY  KELLLY. 

notwithstanding  all  this,  he  felt  that  her  words  had  thrown  a 
foreshadowing  of  calamity  and  sorrow  over  his  spirit,  and  he 
passed  up  to  his  own  house  in  deep  gloom  and  heaviness  of 
heart.  It  is  true  he  remembered  that  this  same  Mary 
Mahon  belonged  to  a  family  that  had  been  inimical  to  his 
house.  She  was  a  woman  who  had,  in  her  early  life,  been 
degraded  by  crime,  the  remembrance  of  which  had  been  by 
no  means  forgotten.  She  was,  besides,  a  paramour  to  the 
Red  Rapparee,  and  he  attributed  much  of  her  dark  and  ill- 
boding  prophecy  to  a  hostile  and  malignant  spirit. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  probably  about  the  same 
hour,  the  old  squire  having  recruited  himself  by  sleep,  and 
felt  refreshed  and  invigorated,  sent  for  his  daughter  to  sit 
with  him  as  was  her  wont  ;  for  indeed,  as  the  reader  may  now 
fully  understand,  his  happiness  altogether  depended  upon 
her  society,  and  those  tender  attentions  to  him  which  con- 
stituted the  chief  solace  of  his  life. 

"  Well,  my  girl,"  said  he,  when  she  entered  the  dining- 
room,  for  he  seldom  left  it  unless  when  they  had  company, 
"  Well,  darling,  what  do  you  think  of  this  Mr.  Mahon — 
pooh  ! — no — oh,  Reilly — he  who  saved  my  life,  and,  proba- 
bly, was  the  means  of  rescuing  you  from  worse  than  death. 
Isn't  he  a  fine — a  noble  young  fellow  ?" 

11  Indeed,  I  think  so,  papa  ;  he  appears  to  be  a  perfect 
gentleman." 

11  Hang  perfect  gentlemen,  Helen  !  they  are,  some  of 
them,  the  most  contemptible  whelps  upon  earth.  Hang 
me,  but  any  fellow  with  a  long-bodied  coat,  tight-kneed 
breeches,  or  stockings  and  pantaloons,  with  a  watch  in 
each  fob,  and  a  frizzled  wig,  is  considered  a  perfect  gentle- 
man— a  perfect  puppy,  Helen,  an  accomplished  trifle. 
Reilly,  however,  is  none  of  these,  for  he  is  not  only  a  per- 
fect gentleman,  but  a  brave  man,  who  would  not  hesitate  to 
risk  his  life  in  order  to  save  that  of  a  fellow-creature,  even 
although  he  is  a  Papist,  and  that  fellow-creature  a  Protest- 
ant." 

"  Well,  then,  papa,  I  grant  you,"  she  replied  with  a 
smile,  which  our  readers  will  understand,  "  I  grant  you  that 
he  is  a — ahem  ! — all  you  say. ' ' 

"  What  a  pity,  Helen,  that  he  is  a  Papist." 

11  Why  so,  papa  ?" 

11  Because,  if  he  was  a  staunch  Protestant,  by  the  great 


WILLY  REILLY.  67 

Deliverer  that  saved  us  from  brass  money,  wooden  shoes, 
and  so  forth,  I'd  marry  you  and  him  together.  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Helen,  by  the  memory  of  Schomberg,  I  have  a  project, 
and  it  is  you  that  must  work  it  out." 

"Well,  papa,"  asked  his  daughter,  putting  the  question 
with  a  smile  and  a  blush,  "  pray  what  is  this  specula- 
tion ?" 

"  Why,  the  fact  is,  I'll  put  him  into  your  hands  to  con- 
vert him — make  him  a  staunch  Protestant,  and  take  him  for 
your  pains.  Accomplish  this,  and  let  long-legged,  knock- 
kneed  Whitecraft,  and  his  twelve  thousand  a  year,  go  and 
bite  some  other  fool  as  he  bit  me  in  '  Hop-and-go-con- 
stant.'  " 

"  What  are  twelve  thousand  a  year,  papa,  when  you  know 
that  they  could  not  secure  me  happiness  with  such  a  wretch  ? 
Such  a  union,  sir,  could  not  be — cannot  be — must  not  be, 
and  I  will  add,  whilst  I  am  in  the  possession  of  will  and 
reason,  shall  not  be." 

"  Well,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  "  if  you  are  obstinate,  so 
am  I  ;  but  I  trust  we  shall  never  have  to  fight  for  it.  We 
must  have  Reilly  here,  and  you  must  endeavor  to  convert 
him  from  Popery.  If  you  succeed,  I'll  give  long-shanks 
his  nunc  di?nittis,  and  send  him  home  on  a  trot." 

"Papa,"  she  replied,  "this  will  be  useless — it  will  be 
ruin — I  know  Reilly." 

"  The  devil  you  do  !  "When,  may  I  ask,  did  you  become 
acquainted  ?" 

11  I  mean,"  she  replied,  blushing,  "  that  I  have  seen 
enough  of  him  during  his  short  stay  here  to  feel  satisfied 
that  no  earthly  persuasion,  no  argument,  could  induce  him, 
at  this  moment  especially,  to  change  his  religion.  And, 
sir,  I  will  add  myself — yes,  I  will  say  for  myself,  dear  papa, 
and  for  Reilly  too,  that  if  from  any  unbecoming  motive — if 
for  the  sake  of  love  itself,  I  felt  satisfied  that  he  could  give 
up  and  abandon  his  religion,  I  would  despise  him.  I 
should  feel  at  once  that  his  heart  was  hollow,  and  that  he 
was  unworthy  either  of  my  love  or  my  respect." 

11  Well,  by  the  great  Boyne,  Helen,  you  have  knocked  my 
intellects  up.  I  hope  in  God  you  have  no  Papist  predilec- 
tions, girl.  However,  it's  only  fair  to  give  Reilly  a  trial  ; 
long-legs  is  to  dine  with  us  the  day  after  to-morrow — now,  I 
will  ask  Reilly  to  meet  him  here — perhaps,  if  I  get  an  oppor- 


63  WILLY  REILLY. 

tunity,  I  will  sound  him  on  the  point  myself — or,  perhaps, 
you  will.  Will  you  promise  to  make  the  attempt  ?  I'll  take 
care  that  you  and  he  shall  have  an  opportunity." 

"  Indeed,  papa,  I  shall  certainly  mention  the  subject  to 
him." 

11  By  the  soul  of  Schomberg,  Helen,  if  you  do  you'll  con- 
vert him." 

Helen  was  about  to  make  some  good-natured  reply,  when 
the  noise  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard  at  the  hall-door,  and 
her  father,  going  to  the  window,  asked,  "  What  noise  is 
that  ?  A  carriage  ! — who  can  it  be  ?  Whitecraft,  by  the 
Boyne  !     Well,  it  can't  be  helped." 

"  I  will  leave  you,  papa,"  she  said  ;  "  I  do  not  wish  to 
see  this  unfeeling  and  repulsive  man,  unless  when  it  is  un- 
avoidable, and  in  your  presence. 

She  then  withdrew. 

Before  we  introduce  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  we  must  beg 
our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  the  residence  of  that  worthy 
gentleman,  which  was  not  more  than  three  miles  from  that 
of  Reilly.  Sir  Robert  had  large  estates  and  a  sumptuous 
residence  in  Ireland,  as  well  as  in  England,  and  had  made 
the  former  principally  his  place  of  abode  since  he  became 
enamored  of  the  celebrated  Cooleeji  Bawn.  On  the  occasion 
in  question  he  was  walking  about  through  his  grounds  when  a 
female  approached  him,  whom  we  beg  the  reader  to  recog- 
nize as  Mary  Mahon.  This  mischievous  woman,  implacable 
and  without  principle,  had,  with  the  utmost  secrecy,  served 
Sir  Robert,  and  many  others,  in  a  capacity  discreditable 
alike  to  virtue  and  her  sex,  by  luring  the  weak  or  the  inno- 
cent within  their  foils. 

1 '  Well,  Mary, ' '  said  he,  ' '  what  news  in  the  country  ? 
You,  who  are  always  on  the  move,  should  know." 

"  No  very  good  news  for  you,  Sir  Robert,"  she  replied. 

"  How  is  that,  Mary  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  Willy  Reilly — the  famous  Willy  Reilly — has  got 
a  footing  in  the  house  of  old  Squire  Folliard." 

"  And  how  can  that  be  bad  news  to  me,  Mary  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  with  a  cunning  leer; 
"  but  this  I  know,  that  they  had  a  love  scene  together  this 
very  morning,  and  that  he  kissed  her  very  sweetly  near  the 
chimney-piece. ' ' 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  did  not  get  into  a  rage  ;  he  neither 


WILLY  REILLY.  69 

cursed  nor  swore,  nor  even  looked  angrily,  but  he  gave  a 
peculiar  smile,  which  should  be  seen  in  order  to  be  under- 
stood. "  Where  is  your — ahem — your  friend  now  ?"  he 
asked  ;  and  as  he  did  so  he  began  to  whistle. 

"  Have  you  another  job  for  him?"  she  inquired,  in  her 
turn,  with  a  peculiar  meaning.  "  Whenever  I  fail  by  fair 
play,  he  tries  it  by  foul." 

"  Well,  and  have  not  I  often  saved  his  neck,  as  well  by 
my  influence  as  by  allowing  him  to  take  shelter  under  my 
roof  whenever  he  was  hard  pressed  ?" 

11  I  know  that,  your  honor  ;  and  hasn't  he  and  I  often 
sarved  you,  on  the  other  hand  ?" 

"  I  grant  it,  Molly  ;  but  that  is  a  matter  known  only  to 
ourselves.  You  know  I  have  the  reputation  of  being  very 
correct  and  virtuous." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  said  Molly,  "  with  most  people,  but 
not  with  all." 

"  Well,  Molly,  you  know,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned,  one 
good  turn  deserves  another.  Where  is  your  friend  now,  I 
ask  again  ?" 

11  Why,  then,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it's  more  than  I  know 
at  the  present  speaking." 

"  Follow  me,  then,"  replied  the  wily  baronet  ;  "I  wrish 
you  to  see  him  ;  he  is  now  concealed  in  my  house  ;  but  first, 
mark  me,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  what  you  have  just  re- 
peated." 

"  It's  as  true  as  Gospel  for  all  that,"  she  replied  ;  "  and 
if  you  wish  to  hear  how  I  found  it  out  I'll  tell  you." 

"  Well,"  said  the  baronet  calmly,  "  let  us  hear  it." 

"  You  must  know,"  she  proceeded,  "  that  I  have  a  cous- 
in, one  Betty  Beatty,  who  is  a  housemaid  in  the  squire's. 
Now,  this  same  Betty  Beatty  was  in  the  front  parlor — for 
the  squire  always  dines  in  the  back — and,  from  a  kind  of 
natural  curiosity  she's  afflicted  with,  she  puts  her  ear  to  the 
keyhole,  and  afterwards  her  eye.  I  happened  to  be  at  the 
squire's  at  the  time,  and,  as  blood  is  thicker  than  wather, 
and  as  she  knew  I  was  a  friend  of  yours,  she  tould  me  what 
she  had  both  heard  and  seen,  what  they  said,  and  how  he 
kissed  her." 

Sir  Robert  seemed  very  calm,  and  merely  said,  "  Follow 
me  into  the  house,"  which  she  accordingly  did,  and  re- 
mained in  consultation  with  him  and  the  Red  Rapparee  for 


70  WILLY  REILLY. 

nearly  an  hour,  after  which  Sir  Robert  ordered  his  carriage, 
and  .went  to  pay  a  visit,  as  we  have  seen,  at  Coibo  Castle. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  on  entering  the  parlor,  shook  hands 
as  a  matter  of  course  with  the  squire.  At  this  particular  crisis 
the  vehement  but  whimsical  old  man,  whose  mind  was  now 
full  of  another  project  with  reference  to  his  daughter,  ex- 
perienced no  great  gratification  from  this  visit,  and,  as 
the  baronet  shook  hands  with  him,  he  exclaimed  somewhat 
testily, 

11  Hang  it,  Sir  Robert,  why  don't  you  shake  hands  like  a 
man  ?  You  put  that  long  yellow  paw  of  yours,  all  skin  and 
bones,  into  a  man's  hand,  and  there  you  let  it  lie.  But,  no 
matter,  every  one  to  his  nature.  Be  seated,  and  tell  me 
what  news.     Are  the  Papists  quiet  ?" 

1 '  There  is  little  news  stirring,  sir  ;  at  least  if  there  be,  it  does 
not  come  my  way,  with  the  exception  of  this  report  about 
yourself,  which  I  hope  is  not  true  ;  that  there  was  an  attempt 
made  on  your  life  yesterday  evening  ?"  Whilst  Sir  Robert 
spoke  he  approached  a  looking-glass,  before  which  he  pre- 
sented himself,  and  commenced  adjusting  his  dress,  espe- 
cially his  wig,  a  piece  of  vanity  which  nettled  the  quick  and 
irritable  feelings  of  the  squire  exceedingly.  The  inference 
he  drew  was,  that  this  wealthy  suitor  of  his  daughter  felt 
more  about  his  own  personal  appearance  before  her  than 
about  the  dreadful  fate  which  he  himself  had  so  narrowly 
escaped. 

"  What  signifies  that,  my  dear  fellow,  when  your  wig  is 
out  of  balance  ?  it's  a  little  to  the  one  side,  like  the  ear  of 
an  empty  jug,  as  they  say. 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  the  fact  is,  that  I  felt 
— hum  ! — hum — so  much — so  much — a — anxiety — hum  ! — 
to  see  you  and — a — a — to  know  all  about  it — that — a — I 
didn't  take  time  to — a — look  to  my  dress.  And  besides,  as 
I — hum  ! — expect  to  have — a — the  pleasure  of  an  interview 
with  Miss  Folliard — a — hum  ! — now  that  I'm  here — I  feel 
anxious  to  appear  to  the  best  advantage — a — hum  !" 

While  speaking  he  proceeded  with  the  readjustment  of 
his  toilet  at  the  large  mirror,  an  operation  which  appeared 
to  constitute  the  great  object  on  which  his  mind  was  engaged, 
the  affair  of  the  squire's  life  or  death  coming  in  only  paren- 
thetically, or  as  a  consideration  of  minor  importance. 

In  height  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  fully  six  feet  two  ;  but 


WILLY  REILLY.  *Jl 

being  extremely  thin  and  lank,  and  to  all  appearance  utterly 
devoid  of  substance,  and  of  every  thing  like  proportion,  he 
appeared  much  taller  than  even  nature  had  made  him.  His 
forehead  was  low,  and  his  whole  character  felonious  ;  his 
eyes  were  small,  deep  set,  and  cunning  ;  his  nose  was 
hooked,  his  mouth  was  wide,  but  his  lips  thin  to  a  miracle, 
and  such  as  always  are  to  be  found  under  the  nose  of  a 
miser  ;  as  for  a  chin,  we  could  not  conscientiously  allow 
him  any  ;  his  under-lip  sloped  off  until  it  met  the  throat  with 
a  curve  not  larger  than  that  of  an  oyster-shell,  which  when 
open  to  the  tide,  his  mouth  very  much  resembled.  As  for 
his  neck,  it  was  so  long  that  no  portion  of  dress  at  that 
time  discovered  was  capable  of  covering  more  than  one 
third  of  it  ;  to  that  there  were  always  two  parts  out  of  three 
left  stark  naked,  and  helplessly  exposed  to  the  elements. 
Whenever  he  smiled  he  looked  as  if  he  was  about  to  weep. 
As  the  squire  said,  he  was  dreadfully  round-shouldered — 
had  dangling  arms,  that  kept  flapping  about  him  as  if  they 
were  moved  by  some  machinery  that  had  gone  out  of  order 
— was  close-kneed — had  the  true  telescopic  leg — and  feet 
that  brought  a  very  large  portion  of  him  into  the  closest 
possible  contact  with  the  earth. 

"Are  you  succeeding,  Sir  Robert?"  inquired  the  old 
man  sarcastically,  "because,  if  you  are,  I  swear  you're 
achieving  wonders,  considering  the  slight  materials  you  have 
to  work  upon." 

"  Ah  !  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  I  perceive  you  are  in 
one  of  your  biting  humors  to-day." 

"Biting!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Egad,  it's  very  well 
for  most  of  your  sporting  acquaintances  that  you're  free 
from  hydrophobia  ;  if  you  were  not,  I'd  have  died  pleasantly 
between  two  feather  beds,  leaving  my  child  an  orphan  long 
before  this.     Egad,  you  bit  me  to  some  purpose." 

"  Oh,  ay,  you  allude  to  the  affair  of  '  Hop-and-go-con- 
stant '  and  '  Pat  the  Spanker  ; '  but  you  know,  my  dear  sir, 
I  gave  you  heavy  boot  ;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  pulled  up  the 
lapels  of  his  coat,  and  glanced  complacently  at  the  profile 
of  his  face  and  person  in  the  glass. 

"  Pray,  is  Miss  Folliard  at  home,  sir  ?" 

"  Again  I'm  forgotten,"  thought  the  squire.  "  Ah,  what 
an  affectionate  son-in-law  he'd  make  !  What  a  tender  hus- 
band for  Helen  !      Why,   hang  the  fellow,  he  has    a  heart 


72  WILL  V  KEILL  Y. 

for  nobody  but  himself.  She  is  at  home,  Sir  Robert,  but 
the  truth  is,  I  don't  think  it  would  become  me,  as  a  father 
anxious  for  the  happiness  of  his  child,  and  that  child  an 
only  one,  to  sacrifice  her  happiness — the  happiness  of  her 
whole  life — to  wealth  or  ambition.  You  know  she  herself 
entertains  a  strong  prejudice — no,  that's  not  the  word — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ;  that  is  the  word  ;  her  distaste 
to  me  is  a  prejudice,  and  nothing  else." 

"  No,  Sir  Robert  ;  it  is  not  the  word.  Antipathy  is  the 
word.  Now  I  tell  you,  once  for  all,  that  I  will  not  force  my 
child." 

"  This  change,  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  baronet,  "  is 
somewhat  of  the  suddenest.  Has  any  thing  occurred  on  my 
part  to  occasion  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  may  have  other  views  for  her,  Sir  Robert." 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  is  such  conduct  either  fair  or  honor- 
able towards  me,  Mr.  Folliard  ?  Have  I  got  a  rival,  and  if 
so,  who  is  he  ?" 

11  Oh,  I  wouldn't  tell  you  that  for  the  world." 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?" 

"  Because,"  replied  the  squire,  "  if  you  found  out  who 
he  was,  you'd  be  hanged  for  cannibalism." 

"  I  really  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Folliard.  Excuse 
me,  but  it  would  seem  to  me  that  something  has  put  you 
into  no  very  agreeable  humor  to-day." 

"  You  don't  understand  me  !  Why,  Sir  Robert,"  replied 
the  other,  "  I  know  you  so  well  that  if  you  heard  the  name 
of  your  rival  you  would  first  kill  him,  then  powder  him, 
and,  lastly,  eat  him.  You  are  such  a  terrible  fellow  that 
you  care  about  no  man's  life,  not  even  about  mine." 

Now  it  was  to  this  very  point  that  the  calculating  baronet 
wished  to  bring  him.  The  old  man,  he  knew,  was  whim- 
sical, capricious,  and  in  the  habit  of  taking  all  his  strongest 
and  most  enduring  resolutions  from  sudden  contrasts  pro- 
duced by  some  mistake  of  his  own,  or  from  some  discovery 
made  to  him  on  the  part  of  others. 

"As  to  your  life,  Mr.  Folliard,  let  me  assure  you,"  re- 
plied Sir  Robert,  "  that  there  is  no  man  living  prizes  it, 
and,  let  me  add,  your  character  too,  more  highly  than  I  do  ; 
but,  my  dear  sir,  your  life  was  never  in  danger." 

"  Never  in  danger  !  what  do  you  mean,  Sir  Robert  ?  I 
tell  you,  sir,  that  the  murdering  miscreant,  the  Red   Rap- 


WILLY  REILLY.  73 

paree,  had  a  loaded  gun  levelled  at  me  last  evening,  after 
dark." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  other  ;  "I  am  well  aware  of  it, 
and  you  were  rescued  just  in  the  nick  of  time." 

"True  enough,"  said  the  squire,  "just  in  the  nick  of 
time  ;  by  that  glorious  young  fellow — a — a — yes — Reilly — 
Willy  Reilly." 

11  This  Willy  Reilly,  sir,  is  a  very  accomplished  person,  I 
think." 

11  A  gentleman,  Sir  Robert,  every  inch  of  him,  and  as 
handsome  and  fine-looking  a  young  fellow  as  ever  I  laid  my 
eyes  upon." 

"  He  was  educated  on  the  Continent  by  the  Jesuits." 

11  No  !"  replied  the  squire,  dreadfully  alarmed  at  this 
piece  of  information,  "  he  was  not  ;  by  the  great  Boyne,  he 
wasn't." 

This  mighty  asservation,  however,  was  exceedingly  feeble 
in  moral  strength  and  energy,  for,  in  point  of  fact,  it  came 
out  of  the  squire's  lips  more  in  the  shape  of  a  question  than 
an  oath. 

"  It  is  unquestionably  true,  sir,"  said  the  baronet  ;  "  ask 
himself,  and  he  will  admit  it." 

11  Well,  and  granting  that  he  was,"  replied  the  squire, 
"  what  else  could  he  do,  when  the  laws  would  not  permit  of 
his  being  educated  here  ?  I  speak  not  against  the  laws,  God 
forbid,  but  of  his  individual  case." 

"  We  are  travelling  from  the  point,  sir,"  returned  the 
baronet.  "I  was  observing  that  Reilly  is  an  accomplished 
person,  as  indeed  every  Jesuit  it.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I 
again  beg  to  assure  you  that  your  life  stood  in  no  risk." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Sir  Robert.  You're  a  perfect 
oracle  ;  by  the  great  Deliverer  from  Pope  and  Popery,  wooden 
shoes,  and  so  forth,  only  that  Reilly  made  his  appearance  at 
that  moment  I  was  a  dead  man." 

"  Not  the  slightest  danger,  Mr.  Folliard.  I  am  aware  of 
that,  and  of  the  whole  Jesuitical  plot  from  the  beginning, 
base,  ingenious,  but  diabolical  as  it  was." 

The  squire  rose  up  and  looked  at  him  for  a  minute,  with- 
out speaking,  then  sat  down  again,  and,  a  second  time,  was 
partially  up,  but  resumed  his  seat. 

"  A  plot  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  a  plot,  Sir  Robert  !  What 
plot?" 


74  WILLY  A  LILLY. 

"  A  plot,  Mr.  Folliard,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  an  op- 
portunity to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  of  ingratiating 
himself  into  the  good  graces  and  affections  of  your  lovely 
daughter  ;  a  plot  for  the  purpose  of  marrying  her." 

The  squire  seemed  for  a  moment  thunderstruck,  but  in 
a  little  time  he  recovered.  "  Marrying  her  !"  he  exclaimed  ; 
"  that,  you  know,  could  not  de  done,  unless  he  turned  Pro- 
testant." 

It  was  now  time  for  the  baronet  to  feel  thunderstricken. 

"He  turn  Protestant  !  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Fol- 
liard. Could  any  change  on  Reilly's  part  involve  such  a 
probability  as  a  marriage  between  him  and  your  daughter  ?" 

"  I  can't  believe  it  was  a  plot,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the 
squire,  shifting  the  question,  "  nor  I  won't  believe  it.  There 
was  too  much  truth  and  sincerity  in  his  conduct.  And, 
what  is  more,  my  house  would  have  been  attacked  last 
night  ;  I  myself  robbed  and  murdered,  and  my  daughter 
— my  child,  carried  off,  only  for  him.  Nay,  indeed,  it  was 
partially  attacked,  but  when  the  villains  found  us  prepared 
they  decamped  ;  but,  as  for  marriage,  he  could  not  marry 
my  daughter,  I  say  again,  so  long  as  he  remains  a  Papist." 

11  Unless  he  might  prevail  on  her  to  turn  Papist." 

"  By  the  life  of  my  body,  Sir  Robert,  I  won't  stand  this. 
Did  you  come  here,  sir,  to  insult  me  and  to  drive  me 
into  madness  ?  "What  devil  could  have  put  it  into  your 
head  that  my  daughter,  sir,  or  anyone  with  a  drop  of  my 
blood  in  their  veins,  to  the  tenth  generation,  could  ever, 
for  a  single  moment,  think  of  turning  Papist  ?  Sir,  I 
hoped  that  you  would  have  respected  the  name  both  of  my 
daughter  and  myself,  and  have  foreborne  to  add  this  double 
insult  both  to  her  and  me.  The  insolence  even  to  dream  of 
imputing  such  an  act  to  her  I  cannot  overlook.  You  your- 
self, if  you  could  gain  a  point  or  feather  your  nest  by  it,  are 
a  thousand  times  much  more  likely  to  turn  Papist  than  either 
of  us.     Apologize  instantly,  sir,  or  leave  my  house." 

"  I  can  certainly  apologize,  Mr.  Folliard,"  replied  the 
baronet,  "  and  with  a  good  conscience,  inasmuch  as  I  had  not 
the  most  remote  intention  of  offending  you,  much  less  Miss 
Folliard — I  accordingly  do  so  promptly  and  at  once  ;  but  as 
for  my  allegations  against  Reilly,  I  am  in  a  position  to  es- 
tablish their  truth  in  the  clearest  manner,  and  to  prove  to 
you  that  there  wasn't  a  single  robber,  nor  Rapparee  either, 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  75 

at  or  about  your  house  last  night,  with  the  exception  of 
Reilly  and  his  gang.  If  there  were,  why  were  they  neither 
heard  nor  seen  ?" 

"  One  of  them  was — the  Red  Rapparee  himself." 

11  Do  not  be  deceived,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  did  you  yourself,  or 
any  of  your  family  or  household,  see  him  ?" 

11  Why,  no,  certainly,  we  did  not  ;  I  admit  that." 

11  V^es,  and  you  will  admit  more  soon.  I  shall  prove  the 
whole  conspiracy." 

11  Well,  why  don't  you  then  ?" 

"  Simply  because  the  matter  must  be  brought  about  with 
great  caution.  You  must  allow  me  a  few  days,  say  three  or 
four,  and  the  proofs  shall  be  given." 

11  Very  well,  Sir  Robert,  but  in  the  meantime  I  shall  not 
throw  Reilly  overboard." 

"  Could  I  not  be  permitted  to  pay  my  respects  to  Miss 
Folliard  before  I  go,  sir  ?"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

11  Don't  insist  upon  it,"  replied  her  father  ;  "  you  know 
perfectly  well  that  she — that  you  are  no  favorite  with  her." 

"  Nothing  on  earth,  sir,  grieves  me  so  much,"  said  the 
baronet,  affecting  a  melancholy  expression  of  countenance, 
which  was  ludicrous  to  look  at. 

11  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  as  you  can't  see  her 
now,  come  and  meet  Reilly  here  at  dinner  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, and  you  shall  have  that  pleasure." 

11  It  will  be  with  pain,  sir,  that  I  shall  force  myself  into 
that  person's  society  ;  however,  to  oblige  you,  I  shall  do  it." 

11  Consider,  pray  consider,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  the  old 
squire,  all  his  pride  of  family  glowing  strong  within  him, 
"  just  consider  that  my  table,  sir,  and  my  countenance,  sir, 
and  my  sense  of  gratitude,  sir,  are  a  sufficient  guarantee  to 
the  worth  and  respectability  of  any  one  whom  I  may  ask  to 
my  house.  And,  Sir  Robert,  in  addition  to  that,  just  reflect 
that  I  ask  him  to  meet  my  daughter,  and,  if  I  don't  mistake, 
I  think  I  love,  honor,  and  respect  her  nearly  as  much  as  I 
do  you.     Will  you  come  then,  or  will  you  not  ?" 

11  Unquestionably,  sir,  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  old  squire,  clearing  up  at  once 
— undergoing,  in  fact,  one  of  those  rapid  and  unaccountable 
changes  which  constituted  so  prominent  a  portion  of  his 
character.  "  Very  well,  Bobby  ;  good-by,  my  boy  ;  I  am 
not  angry  with  you  ;  shake  hands,  and  curse  Popery." 


76  WILLY  REILLY. 

Until  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  two  rivals  were 
to  meet,  Miss  Folliard  began  to  entertain  a  dreadful  appre- 
hension that  the  fright  into  which  the  Red  Rapparee  had 
thrown  her  father  was  likely  to  terminate,  ere  long,  in  in- 
sanity. The  man  at  best  was  eccentric,  and  full  of  the  most 
unaccountable  changes  of  temper  and  purpose,  hot,  pas- 
sionate, vindictive,  generous,  implacable,  and  benevolent. 
What  he  had  seldom  been  accustomed  to  do,  he  commenced 
soliloquizing  aloud,  and  talking  to  himself  in  such  broken 
hints  and  dark  mysterious  allusions,  drawing  from  unknown 
premises  such  odd  and  ludicrous  inferences  ;  at  one  time 
brushing  himself  up  in  Scripture  ;  at  another  moment  ques- 
tioning his  daughter  about  her  opinion  on  Popery — some- 
times dealing  about  political  and  religious  allusions  with 
great  sarcasm,  in  which  he  was  a  master  when  he  wished, 
and  sometimes  with  considerable  humor  of  illustration,  so 
far,  at  least,  as  he  could  be  understood. 

11  Confound  these  Jesuits,"  said  he  ;  "I  wish  they  were 
scourged  out  of  Europe.  Every  man  of  them  is  sure  to  put 
his  finger  in  the  pie  and  then  into  his  mouth  to  taste  what 
it's  like  ;  not  so  the  parsons — Hallo  !  where  am  I  ?  Take 
care,  old  Folliard  ;  take  care,  you  old  dog  ;  what  have  you 
to  say  in  favor  of  these  same  parsons — lazy,  negligent  fel- 
lows, who  snore  and  slumber,  feed  well,  clothe  well,  and 
think  first  of  number  one  ?  Egad,  I'm  in  a  mess  between 
them.  One  makes  a  slave  of  you,  and  the  other  allows  you 
to  play  the  tyrant.  A  plague,  as  I  heard  a  fellow  say  in  a 
play  once,  a  plague  o'  both  your  houses  :  if  you  paid  more 
attention  to  your  duties,  and  scrambled  less  for  wealth  and 
power,  and  this  world's  honors,  you  would  not  turn  it  up- 
side down  as  you  do.     Helen!" 

"Well,  papa." 

"  I  have  doubts  whether  I  shall  allow  you  to  sound  Reilly 
on  Popery." 

"  I  would  rather  decline  it,  sir." 

11  I'll  tell  you  what  ;  I'll  see  Andy  Cummiskey — Andy's 
opinion  is  good  on  any  thing."  And  accordingly  he  pro- 
ceeded to  see  his  confidential  old  servant.  With  this  pur- 
pose, and  in  his  own  original  manner,  he  went  about  con- 
sulting every  servant  under  his  roof  upon  their  respective 
notions  of  Popery,  as  he  called  it,  and  striving  to  allure 
them,    at   one  time  by  kindness,    and  at  another  by  threat- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  77 

ening  them,  into  an  avowal  of  its  idolatrous  tendency. 
Those  to  whom  he  spoke,  however,  knew  very  little  about 
it,  and,  like  those  of  all  creeds  in  a  similar  predicament,  he 
found  that,  in  proportion  to  their  ignorance  of  its  doctrines, 
arose  the  vehemence  and  sincerity  of  their  defence  of  it. 
This,  however,  is  human  nature,  and  we  do  not  see  how 
the  learned  can  condemn  it.  Upon  the  day  appointed  for 
dinner  only  four  sat  down  to  it — that  is  to  say,  the  squire, 
his  daughter,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  Reilly.  They 
had  met  in  the  drawing-room  some  time  before  its  announce- 
ment, and  as  the  old  man  introduced  the  two  latter,  Reilly's 
bow  was  courteous  and  gentlemanl)',  whilst  that  of  the 
baronet,  who  not  only  detested  Reilly  with  the  hatred  of  a 
demon,  but  resolved  to  make  him  feel  the  superiority  of 
rank  and  wealth,  was  frigid,  supercilious,  and  offensive. 
Reilly  at  once  saw  this,  and,  as  he  knew  not  that  the  baronet 
was  in  possession  of  his  secret,  he  felt  his  ill-bred  insolence 
the  more  deeply.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman,  how- 
ever, and  too  well  acquainted  with  the  principles  and  forms 
of  good  breeding,  to  seem  to  notice  it  in  the  slightest  degree. 
The  old  squire  at  this  time  had  not  at  all  given  Reilly  up, 
but  still  his  confidence  in  him  was  considerably  shaken.  He 
saw,  moreover,  that,  notwithstanding  what  had  occurred  at 
their  last  interview,  the  baronet  had  forgotten  the  respect 
due  both  to  himself  and  his  daughter  ;  and,  as  he  had, 
amidst  all  his  eccentricities,  many  strong  touches  of  the  old 
Irish  gentleman  about  him,  he  resolved  to  punish  him  for 
his  ungentlemanly  deportment.  Accordingly,  when  dinner 
was  announced,  he  said  : 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  you  will  give  Miss  Folliard  your  arm." 

We  do  not  say  that  the  worthy  baronet  squinted,  but  there 
was  a  bad  vindictive  look  in  his  small,  cunning  eyes,  which, 
as  they  turned  upon  Reilly,  was  ten  times  more  repulsive 
than  the  worst  squint  that  ever  disfigured  a  human  counte- 
nance. To  add  to  his  chagrin,  too,  the  squire  came  out 
with  a  bit  of  his  usual  sarcasm. 

"  Come,  baronet,"  said  he,  "  here's  my  arm.  I  am  the 
old  man,  and  you  are  the  old  lady  ;  and  now  for  dinner." 

In  the  meantime  Reilly  and  the  Coolcen  Bawn  had  gone 
far  enough  in  advance  to  be  in  a  condition  to  speak  without 
being  heard. 

"  That,"  said  she,  "  is  the  husband  my  father  intends  for 


78  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

me,  or,  rather,  did  intend  ;  for,  do  yon  know,  that  you 
have  found  such  favor  in  his  sight  that — that — "  she  hesi- 
tated, and  Reilly,  looking  into  her  face,  saw  that  she  blushed 
deeply,  and  he  felt  by  her  arm  that  her  whole  frame  trembled 
with  emotion. 

11  Proceed,  dearest  love,"  said  he  ;    "  what  is  it  ?" 

11  I  have  not  time  to  tell  you  now,"  she  replied,  "  but  he 
mentioned  a  project  to  me  which,  if  it  could  be  accom- 
plished, would  seal  both  your  happiness  and  mine  forever. 
Your  religion  is  the  only  obstacle." 

11  And  that,  my  love'"  he  replied,  "  is  an  insurmountable 
one." 

"  Alas  !  I  feared  as  much,"  she  replied,  sighing  bitterly 
as  she  spoke. 

The  old  squire  took  the  head  of  the  table,  and  requested 
Sir  Robert  to  take  the  foot  ;  his  daughter  was  at  his  right 
hand,  and  Reilly  opposite  her,  by  which  means,  although 
denied  any  confidential  use  of  the  tongue,  their  eyes  enjoyed 
very  gratifying  advantages,  and  there  passed  between  them 
occasionally  some  of  those  rapid  glances  which,  especially 
when  lovers  are  under  surveillance,  concentrate  in  their 
lightning  flash  more  significance,  more  hope,  more  joy,  and 
more  love,  than  ever  was  conveyed  by  the  longest  and  ten- 
derest  gaze  of  affection  under  other  circumstances. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "  I'm  told  that  you  are  a 
very  well  educated  man  ;  indeed,  the  thing  is  evident. 
What,  let  me  ask,  is  your  opinion  of  education  in  general  ?" 

11  Why,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  think  there  can  be  but 
one  opinion  about  it.  Without  education  a  people  can  never 
be  moral,  prosperous,  or  happy.  Without  it,  how  are  they 
to  learn  the  duties  of  this  life,  or  those  still  more  important 
ones  that  prepare  them  for  a  better  ?" 

11  You  would  entrust  the  conduct  and  control  of  it,  I  pre- 
sume, sir,  to  the  clergy  ?"  asked  Sir  Robert  insidiously. 

11  I  would  give  the  priest  such  control  in  education  as  be- 
comes his  position,  which  is  not  only  to  educate  the  youth, 
but  to  instruct  the  man,  in  all  the  duties  enjoined  by  re- 
ligion." 

The  squire  now  gave  a  triumphant  look  at  the  baronet,  and 
a  very  kind  and  gracious  one  at  Reilly. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  continued  the  baronet,  in  his  cold,  supercil- 
ious manner,  "  from  the  peculiarity  of  your  views,   I  feel 


WILLY  £  LILLY.  79 

anxious,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  to  ask  where  you  yourself 
have  received  your  very  accomplished  education  ?" 

"  Whether  my  education,  sir,  has  been  an  accomplished 
one  or  otherwise,"  replied  Reilly,  "  is  a  point,  I  apprehend, 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  opportunity  you  ever  had  to  know. 
I  received  my  education,  sir,  such  as  it  is,  and  if  it  be  not 
better  the  fault  is  my  own,  in  a  Jesuit  seminary  on  the 
Continent." 

It  was  now  the  baronet's  time  to  triumph  ;  and  indeed 
the  bitter  glancing  look  he  gave  at  the  squire,  although  it 
was  intended  for  Reilly,  resembled  that  which  one  of  the 
more  cunning  and  ferocious  beasts  of  prey  makes  previous 
to  its  death-spring  upon  its  victim.  The  old  man's  counte- 
nance instantly  fell.  He  looked  with  surprise,  not  unmingled 
with  sorrow  and  distrust,  at  .Reilly,  a  circumstance  which 
did  not  escape  his  daughter,  who  could  not,  for  the  life  of 
her,  avoid  fixing  her  eyes,  lovelier  even  in  the  disdain  they 
expressed,  with  an  indignant  look  at  the  baronet. 

The  latter,  however,  felt  resolved  to  bring  his  rival  still 
further  within  the  toils  he  was  preparing  for  him,  an  object 
which  Reilly's  candor  very  much  facilitated. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "  I  was  not  prepared  to 
hear — a — a — hem  ! — God  bless  me,  it  is  very  odd,  very  de- 
plorable, very  much  to  be  regretted  indeed  !" 

"  What  is,  sir  ?"  asked  Reilly. 

"Why,  that  you  should  be  a  Jesuit.  I  must  confess  I 
was  not — ahem  ! — God  bless  me.  I  can't  doubt  your  own 
word,  certainly." 

11  Not  on  this  subject,"  observed  the  baronet  coolly. 

"  On  no  subject,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  looking  him 
sternly,  and  with  an  indignation  that  was  kept  within  bounds 
only  by  his  respect  for  the  other  parties,  and  the  roof  that 
covered  him  ;  "on  no  subject,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  is 
my  word  to  be  doubted." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  did  not 
say  so." 

11  I  will  neither  have  it  said,  sir,  nor  insinuated,"  rejoined 
Reilly.  "  I  received  my  education  on  the  Continent  be- 
cause the  laws  of  this  country  prevented  me  from  receiving 
it  here.  I  was  placed  in  a  Jesuit  seminary,  not  by  my  own 
choice,  but  by  that  of  my  father,  to  whom  I  owed  obedi- 
ence.    Your  oppressive  laws,   sir,    first  keep    us    ignorant, 


So  WILLY  REILLY. 

and  then  punish  us  for  the  crimes  which  that  ignorance  pro- 
duces." 

11  Do  you  call  the  laws  of  the  country  oppressive  ?"  asked 
the  baronet,  with  as  much  of  a  sneer  as  cowardice  would 
permit  him  to  indulge  in. 

"  I  do,  sir,  and  ever  will  consider  them  so,  at  least  so 
long  as  they  deprive  myself  and  my  Catholic  fellow-country- 
men of  their  civil  and  religious  rights." 

"  That  is  strong  language,  though,"  observed  the  other, 
"  at  this  time  of  day." 

11  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  "  you  seem  to  be  very 
much  attached  to  your  religion." 

11  Just  as  much  as  I  am  to  my  life,  sir,  and  would  as  soon 
give  up  the  one  as  the  other." 

The  squire's  countenance  literally  became  pale,  his  last 
hope  was  gone,  and  so  great  was  his  agitation  that,  in  bring- 
ing a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips,  his  hand  trembled  to  such  a 
degree  that  he  spilled  a  part  of  it.  This,  however,  was  not 
all.  A  settled  gloom — a  morose,  dissatisfied  expression — 
soon  overshadowed  his  features,  from  which  disappeared  all 
trace  of  that  benignant,  open,  and  friendly  hospitality  to- 
wards Reilly  that  had  hitherto  beamed  from  them.  He 
and  the  baronet  exchanged  glances  of  whose  import,  if 
Reilly  was  ignorant,  not  so  his  beloved  Coolee?i  Bawn.  For 
the  remainder  of  the  evening  the  squire  treated  Reilly  with 
great  coolness,  always  addressing  him  as  Mister,  and  evi- 
dently contemplating  him  in  a  spirit  which  partook  of  the 
feeling  that  animated  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft. 

Helen  rose  to  withdraw,  and  contrived,  by  a  sudden  glance 
at  the  door,  and  another  as  quick  in  the  direction  of  the 
drawing-room,  to  let  her  lover  know  that  she  wished  him  to 
follow  her  soon.  The  hint  was  not  lost,  for  in  less  than 
half  an  hour  Reilly,  who  was  of  very  temperate  habits, 
joined  her  as  she  had  hinted. 

"  Reilly,"  said  she,  as  she  ran  to  him,  "  dearest  Reilly  ! 
there  is  little  time  to  be  lost.  I  perceive  that  a  secret  un- 
derstanding respecting  you  exists  between  papa  and  that  de- 
testable baronet.  Be  on  your  guard,  especially  against  the 
latter,  who  has  evidently,  ever  since  we  sat  down  to  dinner, 
contrived  to  bring  papa  round  to  his  own  way  of  thinking, 
as  he  will  ultimately,  perhaps,  to  worse  designs  and  darker 
purposes.     Above  all  things,  speak  nothing  that  can  be  con- 


WILLY  REILLY.  Si 

strued  against  the  existing  laws.  I  find  that  danger,  if  not 
positive  injury,  awaits  you.  I  shall,  at  any  risk,  give  you 
warning." 

"  At  no  risk,  beloved  !" 

"  At  every  risk — at  all  risks,  dearest  Reilly  !  Nay,  more 
— whatever  danger  may  encompass  you  shall  be  shared  by 
me,  even  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  or  I  shall  extricate  you  out 
of  it.  But  perhaps  you  will  not  be  faithful  to  me.  If  so, 
I  shudder  to  think  what  might  happen." 

"  Listen,"  said  Reilly,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  "  In  the 
presence  of  heaven^  I  am  yours,  and  yours  only,  until  death  /" 

She  repeated  his  words,  after  which  they  had  scarcely 
taken  their  seats  when  the  squire  and  Sir  Robert  entered 
the  drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    PLOT    AND    THE    VICTIMS. 

SIR  ROBERT,  on  entering  the  room  along  with  the 
squire,  found  the  Cooleen  Bawn  at  the  spinnet.  Tak- 
ing his  place  at  the  end  of  it,  so  as  that  he  could  gain  a  full 
view  of  her  countenance,  he  thought  he  could  observe  her 
complexion  considerably  heightened  in  color,  and  from  her 
his  glance  was  directed  to  Reilly.  The  squire,  on  the  other 
hand,  sat  dull,  silent,  and  unsociable,  unless  when  address- 
ing himself  to  the  baronet,  and  immediately  his  genial  man- 
ner returned  to  him. 

With  his  usual  impetuosity,  however,  when  laboring  under 
what  he  supposed  to  be  a  sense  of  injury,  he  soon  brought 
matters  to  a  crisis. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  are  the  Papists  quiet  now  ?" 
11  They  are  quiet,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  because  they 
dare  not  be  otherwise." 

11  By  the  great  Deliverer,  that  saved  us  from  Pope  and 
Popery,  brass  money  and  wooden  shoes,  I  think  the  country 
will  never  be  quiet  till  they  are  banished  out  of  it." 
"  Indeed,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  agree  with  you." 
"  And  so  do  I,  Sir  Robert,"  said  Reilly.     "  I  wish  from 


82  WILLY  REILLY. 

my  soul  there  was  not  a  Papist,  as  you  call  them,  in  this 
unfortunate  country  !  In  any  other  country  beyond  the 
bounds  of  the  British  dominions  they  could  enjoy  freedom. 
But  I  wish  it  for  another  reason,  gentlemen  ;  if  they  were 
gone,  you  would  then  be  taught  to  your  cost  the  value  of 
your  estates  and  the  source  of  your  incomes.  And  now, 
Mr.  Folliard,  I  am  not  conscious  of  having  given  you  any 
earthly  offence,  but  I  cannot  possibly  pretend  to  misunder- 
stand the  object  of  your  altered  conduct  and  language.  I 
am  your  guest,  at  your  own  express  invitation.  You  know 
I  am  a  Roman  Catholic — Papist,  if  you  will — yet,  with  the 
knowledge  of  this,  you  have  not  only  insulted  me  personally, 
but  also  in  the  creed  to  which  I  belong.  As  for  that  gen- 
tleman, I  can  only  say  that  this  roof  and  the  presence  of  those 
who  are  under  it  constitute  his  protection.  But  I  envy  not  the 
man  who  could  avail  himself  of  such  a  position,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  insinuating  an  insult  which  he  dare  not  offer  under 
other  circumstances.  I  will  not  apologize  for  taking  my  de- 
parture, for  I  feel  that  I  have  been  too  long  here." 

Cooleen  Bawn  arose  in  deep  agitation.  "  Dear  papa,  what 
is  this?"  she  exclaimed.  "  What  can  be  the  cause  of  it? 
"Why  forget  the  laws  of  hospitality  ?  Why,  above  all  things, 
deliberately  insult  the  man  to  whom  you  and  I  both  owe  so 
much  ?  Oh,  I  cannot  understand  it.  Some  demon,  equally 
cowardly  and  malignant,  must  have  poisoned  your  own 
naturally  generous  mind.  Some  villain,  equally  profligate 
and  hypocritical,  has,  for  some  dark  purpose,  given  this 
unworthy  bias  to  your  mind." 

11  You  know  nothing  of  it,  Helen.  You're  altogether  in 
the  dark,  girl  ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  it  will  all  be  made  clear 
to  you." 

"  Do  not  be  discomposed,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard,"  said 
Sir  Robert,  striding  over  to  her.  "  Allow  me  to  prevail 
upon  you  to  suspend  your  judgment  for  a  little,  and  to  re- 
turn to  the  beautiful  air  you  were  enchanting  us  with." 

As  he  spoke  he  attempted  to  take  her  hand.  Reilly,  in 
the  meantime,  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  bid  his 
love  good-night. 

11  Touch  me  not,  sir,"  she  replied,  her  glorious  eyes  flash- 
ing with  indignation.  "  I  charge  you  as  the  base  cause  of 
drawing  down  the  disgrace  of  shame,  the  sin  of  ingratitude, 
on  my  father's  head.    But  here  that  father  stands,  and  there 


WILLY  REILLY.  83 

you,  sir,  stand  ;  and  sooner  than  become  the  wife  of  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  I  would  dash  myself  from  the  battlements 
of  this  castle.  William  Reilly,  brave  and  generous  young 
man,  good-night  !  It  matters  not  who  may  forget  the  debt 
of  gratitude  which  this  family  owe  you — /  will  not.  No 
cowardly  slanderer  shall  instil  his  poisonous  calumnies 
against  you  into  my  ear.  My  opinion  of  you  is  unchanged 
and  unchangeable.     Farewell  !  William  Reilly!" 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  commotions  of  love, 
of  happiness,  of  rapture,  which  filled  Reilly 's  bosom  as  he 
took  his  departure.  As  for  Cooleen  Bazu?i  she  had  now 
passed  the  Rubicon,  and  there  remained  nothing  for  her  but 
constancy  to  the  truth  of  her  affection,  be  the  result  what  it 
might.  She  had,  indeed,  much  of  the  vehemence  of  her 
father's  character  in  her  ;  much  of  his  unchangeable  purpose, 
when  she  felt  or  thought  she  was  right  ;  but  not  one  of  his 
unfounded  whims  or  prejudices  ;  for  she  was  too  noble- 
minded  and  sensible  to  be  influenced  by  unbecoming  or  in- 
adequate motives.  With  an  indignant  but  beautiful  scorn, 
that  gave  grace  to  resentment,  she  bowed  to  the  baronet, 
then  kissed  her  father  affectionately  and  retired. 

The  old  man,  after  she  had  gone,  sat  for  a  considerable 
time  silent.  In  fact,  the  superior  force  of  his  daughter's 
character  had  not  only  surprised,  but  overpowed  him  for  the 
moment.  The  baronet  attempted  to  resume  the  conversa- 
tion, but  he  found  not  his  intended  father-in-law  in  the 
mood  for  it.  The  light  of  truth,  as  it  flashed  from  the 
spirit  of  his  daughter,  seemed  to  dispel  the  darkness  of  his 
recent  suspicions  ;  he  dwelt  upon  the  possibility  of  ingrati- 
tude with  a  temporary  remorse. 

"  I  cannot  speak  to  you,  Sir  Robert,"  he  said;  "I  am 
confused,  disturbed,  distressed.  If  I  have  treated  that 
young  man  ungratefully,  God  may  forgive  me,  but  I  will 
never  forgive  myself." 

"  Take  care,  sir,"  said  the  baronet,  "  that  you  are  not 
under  the  spell  of  the  Jesuit  and  your  daughter  too.  Per- 
haps you  will  find,  when  it  is  too  late,  that  she  is  the  more 
spellbound  of  the  two.  If  I  don't  mistake,  the  spell  begins 
to  work  already.  In  the  meantime,  as  Miss  Folliard  will 
have  it,  I  withdraw  all  claims  upon  her  hand  and  affec- 
tions. Good-night,  sir;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  took  his  de- 
parture. 


S4  WILLY  REILLY. 

For  a  long  time  the  old  man  sat  looking  into  the  fire, 
where  he  began  gradually  to  picture  to  himself  strange 
forms  and  objects  in  the  glowing  embers,  one  of  whom  he 
thought  resembled  the  Red  Rapparee  about  to  shoot  him  ; 
another,  Willy  Reilly  making  love  to  his  daughter  ;  and  be- 
hind all,  a  high  gallows,  of  which  he  beheld  the  said  Willy 
hanging  for  his  crime. 

In  about  an  hour  afterwards  Miss  Folliard  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  where  she  found  her  father  asleep  in  his  arm- 
chair. Having  awakened  him  gently  from  what  appeared  a 
disturbed  dream,  he  looked  about  him,  and,  forgetting  for 
a  moment  all  that  had  happened,  inquired  in  his  usual  eager 
manner  where  Reilly  and  Whitecraft  were,  and  if  they  had 
gone.  In  a  few  moments,  however,  he  recollected  the  circum- 
stances that  had  taken  place,  and  after  heaving  a  deep  sigh, 
he  opened  his  arms  for  his  daughter,  and  as  he  embraced 
her  burst  into  tears. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "I  am  unhappy  ;  I  am  distressed  ;  I 
know  not  what  to  do  ! — may  God  forgive  me  if  I  have  treated 
this  young  man  with  ingratitude.  But,  at  all  events,  a  few 
days  will  clear  it  all  up." 

His  daughter  was  melted  by  the  depth  of  his  sorrow,  and 
the  more  so  as  it  was  seldom  she  had  seen  him  shed  tears 
before. 

"  I  would  do  every  thing — any  thing  to  make  you  happy, 
my  dear  treasure,"  said  he,  "  if  I  only  knew  how." 

"  Dear  papa,"  she  replied,  "  of  that  I  am  conscious  ; 
and  as  a  proof  that  the  heart  of  your  daughter  is  incapable 
of  veiling  a  single  thought  that  passes  in  it  from  a  parent 
who  loves  her  so  well,  I  will  place  its  most  cherished  secret 
in  your  own  keeping.  I  shall  not  be  outdone  even  by  you, 
dear  papa,  in  generosity,  in  confidence,  in  affection.  Papa," 
she  added,  placing  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  whilst  the 
tears  flowed  fast  down  her  cheeks,  "papa,  I  love  William 
Reilly — love  him  with  a  pure  and  disinterested  passion  !— 
with  a  passion  which  I  feel  constitutes  my  destiny  in  this 
life — either  for  happiness  or  misery.  That  passion  is  irre- 
vocable. It  is  useless  to  ask  me  to  control  or  suppress  it,  for 
I  feel  that  the  task  is  beyond  my  power.  My  love,  how- 
ever, is  not  base  nor  selfish,  papa,  but  founded  on  virtue 
and  honor.  It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should  make  such 
a  confession  to  you,  for  I  know  it  is  unusual  in  young  persons 


WILLY  REILLY.  85 

like  me  to  do  so  ;  but  remember,  dear  papa,  that  except 
yourself  I  have  no  friend.  If  I  had  a  mother,  or  a  sister, 
or  a  cousin  of  my  own  sex,  to  whom  I  might  confide  and 
unburden  my  feelings,  then  indeed  it  is  not  probable  I 
Avould  make  to  you  the  confession  which  I  have  made  ;  but 
we  are  alone,  and  you  are  the  only  being  left  me  on  whom 
can  rest  my  sorrow — for  indeed  my  heart  is  full  of  sor- 
row." 

"Well,  well,  I  know  not  what  to  say.  You  are  a  true 
girl,  Helen,  and  the  very  error,  if  it  be  one,  is  diminished 
by  the  magnanimity  and  truth  which  prompted  you  to  dis- 
close it  to  me.  I  will  go  to  bed,  dearest,  and  sleep  if  I 
can.  I  trust  in  God  there  is  no  calamity  about  to  over- 
shadow our  house  or  destroy  our  happiness." 

He  then  sought  his  own  chamber  ;  and  Cooleen  Bawn, 
after  attending  him  thither,  left  him  to  the  care  of  his  at- 
tendant and  retired  herself  to  her  apartment. 

On  reaching  home  Reilly  found  Fergus,  one  of  his  own 
relatives,  as  we  have  said,  the  same  who,  warned  by  his  re- 
monstrances, had  abandoned  the  gang  of  the  Red  Rapparee, 
waiting  to  see  him. 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad  that  you  have  fol- 
lowed my  advice.  You  have  left  the  lawless  employment 
of  that  blood-stained  man  ?" 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  other,  "  and  I'm  here  to  tell  you 
that  you  can  now  secure  him  if  you  like.  I  don't  look 
upon  savin'  this  as  treachery  to  him,  nor  would  I  mention 
it  only  that  Paudeen,  the  smith,  who  shoes  and  doctors  his 
horses,  tould  me  something  that  you  ought  to  know." 
"  Well,  Fergus,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  There's  a  plot  laid,  sir,  to  send  you  out  o'  the  country, 
and  the  Red  Rapparee  has  a  hand  in  it.  He  is  promised  a 
pardon  from  government,  and  some  kind  of  a  place  as 
thief-taker,  if  he'll  engage  in  it  against  you.  Now,  you 
know,  there's  a  price  upon  his  head,  and,  if  you  like,  you 
can  have  it,  and  get  an  enemy  put  out  of  your  way  at  the 
same  time." 

"  No,  Fergus,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  in  a  moment  of  indig- 
nation I  threatened  him  in  order  to  save  the  life  of  a  fellow- 
creature.  But  let  the  laws  deal  with  him.  As  for  me,  you 
know  what  he  deserves  at  my  hands,  but  I  shall  never  be- 
come  the  hound  of  a  government  which  oppresses  me  un- 


86  WILLY  KELLLY. 

justly.  No,  no,  it  is  precisely  because  a  price  is  laid  upon 
the  unfortunate  miscreant's  head  that  /  would  not  betray 
him." 

"  He  will  betray  you,  then." 

11  And  let  him.  I  have  never  violated  any  law,  and  even 
though  he  should  betray  me,  Fergus,  he  cannot  make  me 
guilty.  To  the  laws,  to  God,  and  his  own  conscience,  I 
leave  him.  No,  Fergus,  all  sympathy  between  me  and  the 
laws  that  oppress  us  is  gone.  Let  them  vindicate  themselves 
against  thieves  and  robbers  and  murderers,  with  as  much 
vigilance  and  energy  as  they  do  against  the  harmless  forms 
of  religion  and  the  rights  of  conscience,  and  the  country 
will  soon  be  free  from  such  licentious  pests  as  the  Red  Rap- 
paree  and  his  gang." 

"  You  speak  warmly,  Mr.  Reilly. " 

"Yes,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  am  warm,  I  am  indignant  at 
my  degradation.  Fergus,  Fergus,  I  never  felt  that  degra- 
dation and  its  consequences  so  deeply  as  I  do  this  unhappy 
night." 

"  Well,  will  you  listen  to  me  ?" 

"  I  will  strive  to  do  so  ;  but  you  know  not  the — you  know 
not — alas  !  I  have  no  language  to  express  what  I  feel.  Pro- 
ceed, however,"  he  added,  attempting  to  calm  the  tumult 
that  agitated  his  heart  ;  "  what  about  this  plot  or  plan  for 
putting  me  out  of  the  country  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  it's  determined  on  to  send  you,  by  the  means 
of  the  same  laws  you  speak  of,  out  of  the  country.  The  red 
villain  is  to  come  in  with  a  charge  against  you  and  surrender 
himself  to  government  as  a  penitent  man,  and  the  person 
who  is  to  protect  him  is  Sir  E.obert  YVhitecraft." 

11  It's  all  true,  Fergus,"  said  Reilly  ;  "I  see  it  at  a 
glance,  and  understand  it  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do. 
They  may,  however,  be  disappointed.  Fergus,  I  have  a 
friend — a  friend — oh,  such  a  friend  !  and  it  will  go  hard 
with  that  friend,  or  I  shall  hear  of  their  proceedings.  In 
the  meantime,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

"I  scarcely  know,"  replied  the  other.  "I  must  lie 
quiet  for  a  while,  at  any  rate." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  and  listen,  Fergus.  See  Pau- 
deen,  the  smith,  from  time  to  time,  and  get  whatever  he 
knows  out  of  him.  His  father  was  a  tenant  of  ours,  and  he 
ought  to  remember  our  kindness  to  him  and  his." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  87 

"  Ay,"  said  Fergus,  "  and  he  does  too." 

"  Well,  it  is  clear  he  does.  Get  from  him  all  the  infor- 
mation you  can,  and  let  me  hear  it.  I  would  give  you 
shelter  in  my  house,  but  that  now  would  be  dangerous  both 
to  you  and  me.     Do  you  want  money  to  support  you  ?" 

"Well,  indeed,  Mr.  Reilly,  I  do  and  I  do  not.  I 
can — " 

"That's  enough,"  said  Reilly;  "you  want  it.  Here, 
take  this.  I  would  recommend  you,  as  I  did  before,  to 
leave  this  unhappy  country  ;  but  as  circumstances  have 
turned  out,  you  may  for  some  time  yet  be  useful  to  me. 
Good-night,  then,  Fergus.  Serve  me  in  this  matter  as  far 
as  you  can,  for  I  stand  in  need  of  it." 

As  nothing  like  an  organized  police  existed  in  Ireland  at 
the  period  of  which  we  speak,  an  outlaw  or  Rapparee  might 
have  a  price  laid  upon  his  head  for  months — nay,  for  years — 
and  yet  continue  his  outrages  and  defy  the  executive.  Some- 
times it  happened  that  the  authorities,  feeling  the  weakness 
of  their  resources  and  the  inadequacy  of  their  power,  did 
not  hesitate  to  propose  terms  to  the  leaders  of  these  ban- 
ditti, and,  by  affording  them  personal  protection,  succeeded 
in  inducing  them  to  betray  their  former  associates.  Now 
Reilly  was  well  aware  of  this,  and  our  readers  need  not  be 
surprised  that  the  communication  made  to  him  by  his  kins- 
man filled  him  not  only  with  anxiety  but  alarm.  A  very 
slight  charge  indeed  brought  forward  by  a  man  of  rank 
and  property — such  a  charge,  for  instance,  as  the  possession 
of  firearms — was  quite  sufficient  to  get  a  Roman  Catholic 
banished  the  country. 

On  the  third  evening  after  this  our  friend  Tom  Steeple 
was  met  by  its  proprietor  in  the  avenue  leading  to  Corbo 
Castle. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  said  the  squire,  "  are  you  for  the  Big 
House?"  for  such  is  the  general  term  applied  to  all  the 
ancestral  mansions  of  the  country. 

Tom  stopped  and  looked  at  him — for  we  need  scarcely 
observe  here  that  with  poor  Tom  there  was  no  respect  of 
persons  ;  he  then  shook  his  head,  and  replied,  "  Me  don't 
know  whether  you  tall  or  not.  Tom  tall — will  Tom  go  to 
Big  House — get  bully  dinner — and  Tom  sleep  under  the 
stairs — eh  ?     Say  ay,  an'  you  be  tall  too." 

11  To  be  sure,  Tom  ;  go  into  the  house,  and  your   cousin 


8S  WILLY  REILLY. 

Larry  Lanigan,  the  cook,  will  give  you  a  bully  dinner  ;  and 
sleep  where  you  like." 

The  squire  walked  up  and  down  the  avenue  in  a  thought- 
ful mood  for  some  moments  until  another  of  our  characters 
met  him  on  his  way  towards  the  entrance  gate.  This  person 
was  no  other  than  Molly  Marion. 

"  Ha  !"  said  he,  "  here  is  another  of  them — well,  poor 
devils,  they  must  live.  This,  though,  is  the  great  fortune- 
teller.     I  will  try  her." 

"  God  save  your  honor,"  said  Molly,  as  she  approached 
him  and  dropped  a  courtesy. 

"Ah,  Molly,"  said  he,  "you  can  see  into  the  future, 
they  say.  Well,  come  now,  tell  me  my  fortune  ;  but  they 
say  one  must  cross  your  palm  with  silver  before  you  can 
manage  the  fates  ;  here's  a  shilling  for  you,  and  let  us  hear 
what  you  have  to  say. 

11  No,  sir,"  replied  Molly,  putting  back  his  hand,  "  im- 
posthors  may  do  that,  because  they  secure  themselves  first 
and  tell  you  nothing  worth  knowin'  afterwards.  I  take  no 
money  till  I  first  tell  the  fortune." 

11  Well,  Molly,  that's  honest  at  all  events  ;  let  me  hear 
what  you  have  to  tell  me." 

"  Show  me  your  hand,  sir,"  said  she,  and  taking  it,  she 
looked  into  it  with  a  solemn  aspect.  "  There,  sir,"  she 
said,  "  that  will  do.     I  am  sorry  I  met  you  this  evening." 

"Why  so,  Molly?" 

"  Because  I  read  in  you  hand  a  great  deal  of  sorrow." 

"  Pooh,  you  foolish  woman — nonsense  !" 

"  There's  a  misfortune  likely  to  happen  to  one  of  your 
family  ;  but  I  think  it  may  be  prevented." 

"  How  will  it  be  prevented  ?" 

"  By  a  gentleman  that  has  a  title  and  great  wealth,  and 
that  loves  the  member  of  your  family  that  the  misfortune  is 
likely  to  happen  to." 

The  squire  paused  and  looked  at  the  woman,  who  seemed 
to  speak  seriously,  and  even  with  pain. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  Molly  ;  but  granting  that 
it  be  true,  how  do  you  know  it  ?" 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell  myself,  sir,"  she  replied. 
11  A  feelin'  comes  over  me,  and  I  can't  help  speakin'  the 
words  as  they  rise  to  my  lips." 

"  Well,  Molly,  here's  a  shilling  for  you  now  ;  but  I  want 


WILLY  REILLY.  bg 

you  to  see  my  daughter's  hand  till  I  hear  what  you  have  to 
say  for  her.     Are  you  a  Papist,  Molly  ?" 

11  No,  your  honor,  I  was  one  wanst  ;  but  the  moment  we 
take  to  this  way  of  life  we  mustn't  belong  to  any  religion, 
otherwise  we  couldn't  tell  the  future." 

"  Sell  yourself  to  the  devil,  eh  ?" 

11  Oh,  no,  sir  ;  but — " 
'     "But  what?     Out  with  it." 

"  I  can't,  sir  ;  if  I  did,  I  never  could  tell  a  fortune 
agin." 

11  Well — well  ;  come  up  ;  I  have  taken  a  fancy  that  you 
shall  tell  my  daughter's  for  all  that." 

11  Surely  there  can  be  nothing  but  happiness  before  her, 
sir  ;  she  that  is  so  good  to  the  poor  and  distressed  ;  she  that 
has  all  the  world  admirin' her  wonderful  beauty.  Sure,  they 
say,  her  health  was  drunk  in  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  house  in 
the  great  Castle  of  Dublin,  as  the  Lily  of  the  Plains  of  Boyle 
and  the  Star  of  Ireland." 

"  And  so  it  was,  Molly,  and  so  it  was  ;  there's  another 
shilling  for  you.  Come  now,  come  up  to  the  house,  and 
tell  her  fortune  ;  and  mark  me,  Molly,  no  flattery  now — 
nothing  but  the  truth,  if  you  know  it." 

11  Did  I  flatter  you,  sir  ?" 

"  Upon  my  honor,  any  thing  but  that,  Molly  ;  and  all  I 
ask  is  that  you  won't  flatter  her.  Speak  the  truth,  as  I  said 
before,  if  you  know  it." 

Miss  Folliard,  on  being  called  down  by  her  father  to  have 
her  fortune  told,  on  seeing  Molly,  drew  back  and  said, 

"  Do  not  ask  me  to  come  in  direct  contact  with  this  wom- 
an, papa.  How  can  yon,  for  one  moment,  imagine  that  a 
person  of  her  life  and  habits  could  be  gifted  with  that  which 
has  never  yet  been  communicated  to  mortal  (the  holy  proph- 
ets excepted) — a  knowledge  of  futurity  ?" 

"  No  matter,  my  darling,  no  matter  ;  give  her  your  hand  ; 
you  will  oblige  and  gratify  me." 

"  Here,  then,  dear  papa,  to  please  you — certainly." 

Molly  took  her  lovely  hand,  and  having  looked  into  it,  said, 
turning  to  the  squire,  "  It's  very  odd,  sir,  but  here's  nearly 
the  same  thing  that  I  tould  to  you  awhile  ago." 

"  Well,  Molly,"  said  he,  "  let  us  hear  it." 

Miss  Folliard  stood  with  her  snowy  hand  in  that  of  the 
fortune-teller,  perfectly  indifferent  to  her  art,  but  not  with- 


9°  WILLY  REILLY. 

out  strong  feelings  of  disgust  at  the  ordeal  to  which  she 
submitted. 

41  Now,  Molly,"  said  the  squire,  "  what  have  you  to  say  ?" 

14  Here's  love,"  she  replied,  "  love  in  the  wrong  direction 
— a  false  step  is  made  that  will  end  in  misery — and — and — 
and—" 

"  And  what,  woman?"  asked  Miss  Folliard,  with  an  in- 
dignant glance  at  the  fortune-teller.  "  What  have  you  to 
add." 

11  No  !"  said  she,  "  I  needn't  speak  it,  for  it  won't  come 
to  pass.  I  see  a  man  of  wealth  and  title  who  will  just 
come  in  in  time  to  save  you  from  shame  and  destruction,  and 
with  him  you  will  be  happy." 

"  I  could  prove  to  you,"  replied  the  Cooleen  Bawny  her 
face  mantling  with  blushes  of  indignation,  "  that  I  am  a 
better  prophetess  than  you  are.  Ask  her,  papa,  where  she 
last  came  from?" 

11  Where  did  you  come  from  last,  Molly  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Why,  then,"  she  replied,  "  from  Jemmy  Hamilton's  at 
the  foot  of  Cullamore." 

"False  prophetess,"  replied  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  "you 
have  told  an  untruth.     I  know  where  you  came  from  last." 

"Then  where  did  I  come  from,  Miss  Folliard?"  said 
the  woman,  with  unexpected  effrontery. 

"  From  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  replied  Miss  Folliard, 
"  and  the  wages  of  your  dishonesty  and  his  corruption  are 
the  sources  of  your  inspiration.  Take  the  woman  away, 
papa." 

"That  will  do,  Molly — that  will  do,"  exclaimed  the 
squire,  "  there  is  something  additional  for  you.  What  you 
have  told  us  is  very  odd — very  odd,  indeed.  Go  and  get 
your  dinner  in  the  kitchen." 

Miss  Folliard  then  withdrew  to  her  own  room. 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  that  night  a  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  grand  entrance  of  Corbo  Castle,  out  of  which 
stepped  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  no  less  a  personage  than 
the  Red  Rapparee.  They  approached  the  hall  door,  and 
after  giving  a  single  knock,  it  was  opened  to  them  by  the 
squire  himself,  who  it  would  seem  had  been  waiting  to  re- 
ceive them  privately.  They  followed  him  in  silence  to  his 
study. 

Mr.  Folliard,  though  a  healthy-looking  man,  was,  in  point 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  91 

of  fact,  by  no  means  so.  Of  a  nervous  and  plethoric  habit, 
though  brave,  and  even  intrepid,  yet  he  was  easily  affected 
by  any  thing  or  any  person  that  was  disagreeable  to  him. 
On  seeing  the  man  whose  hand  had  been  raised  against  his 
life,  and  what  was  still  more  atrocious,  whose  criminal  de- 
signs upon  the  honor  of  his  daughter  had  been  proved  by 
his  violent  irruption  into  her  chamber,  he  felt  a  suffocating 
sensation  of  rage  and  horror  that  nearly  overcame  him. 

"Sir  Robert,"  he  said,  "excuse  me;  the  sight  of  this 
man  has  sickened  me.  I  got  your  note,  and  in  your  society 
and  at  your  request  I  have  suffered  him  to  come  here  ;  under 
your  protection,  too.  May  God  forgive  me  for  it  !  The 
room  is  too  close — I  feel  unwell — pray  open  the  door." 

11  Will  there  be  no  risk,  sir,  in  leaving  the  door  open  ?" 
Said  the  baronet. 

"  None  in  the  world  !  I  have  sent  the  servants  all  to  bed 
nearly  an  hour  ago.  Indeed,  the  fact  is,  they  are  seldom 
up  so  late,  unless  when  I  have  company." 

Sir  Robert  then  opened  the  door — that  is  to  say,  he  left  it 
a  little  more  than  ajar,  and  returning  again  took  his  seat. 

11  Don't  let  the  sight  of  me  frighten  you,  sir,"  said  the 
Rapparee.  "  I  never  was  your  enemy  nor  intended  you 
harm. 

"  Frighten  me  /"  replied  the  courageous  old  squire  ;  "  no, 
sir,  I  am  not  a  man  very  easily  frightened  ;  but  I  will  con- 
fess that  the  sight  of  you  has  sickened  me  and  filled  me 
with  horror." 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "let  this 
matter,  this  misunderstanding,  this  mistake,  or  rather  this 
deep  and  diabolical  plot  on  the  part  of  the  Jesuit,  Reilly,  be 
at  once  cleared  up.  We  wish,  that  is  to  say  I  wish,  to  pre- 
vent your  good  nature  from  being  played  upon  by  a  design- 
ing villain.  Now,  O'Donnel,  relate,  or  rather  disclose, 
candidly  and  truly  all,  that  took  place  with  respect  to  this 
damnable  plot  between  you  and  Reilly." 

"  Why,  the  thing,  sir,"  said  the  Rapparee,  addressing 
himself  to  the  squire,  "is  very  plain  and  simple;  but,  Sir 
Robert,  it  was  not  a  plot  between  me  and  Reilly — the  plot 
was  his  own.  It  appears  that  he  saw  your  daughter  and 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  her,  and  knowin'  your  strong 
feeling  against  Catholics,  he  gave  up  all  hopes  of  being 
made  acquainted  with  Miss  Folliard,  or  of  getting  into  her 


92  WILLY  REILLY. 

company.  Well,  sir,  aware  that  you  were  often  in  the  habit 
of  goin'  to  the  town  of  Boyle,  he  comes  to  me  and  says  in 
the  early  part  of  the  day,  '  Randal,  I  will  give  you  fifty 
goolden  guineas  if  you  help  me  in  a  plan  I  have  in  my 
head.'  Now,  fifty  goolden  guineas  isn't  easily  earned  ;  so 
I,  not  knowing  what  the  plan  was  at  the  time,  tould  him  1 
could  say  nothing  till  I  heard  it.  He  then  tould  me  that  he 
was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  your  daughter,  and  that 
have  her  he  should  if  it  cost  him  his  life.  '  Well, '  says  I, 
'  and  how  can  I  help  you  ? '  '  Why,'  said  he,  '  I'll  show  you 
that  :  her  ould  persecuting  scoundrel  of  a  father  ' — excuse 
me,  sir — I'm  givin'  his  own  words — " 

11  I  believe  it,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  for  these 
are  the  identical  terms  in  which  he  told  me  the  story  be- 
fore ;  proceed,  O'Donnell." 

"'The  ould  scoundrel  of  a  father,'  says  he,  'on  his 
return  from  Boyle,  generally  comes  by  the  ould  road,  be- 
cause it  is  the  shortest  cut.  Do  you  and  your  men  lie  in 
wait  in  the  ruins  of  the  ould  chapel,  near  Loch  na  Gar  ran  ' 
— is  is  called  so,  sir,  because  they  say  there's  a  wild  horse  in 
it  that  comes  out  of  moonlight  nights  to  feed  on  the  patches 
of  green  that  are  here  and  there  among  the  moors — '  near 
Loch  na  Garran, '  says  he  ;  '  and  when  he  gets  that  far  turn 
out  upon  him,  charge  him  with  transportin'  your  uncle,  and 
when  you  are  levellin'  your  gun  at  him,  I  will  come,  by  the 
way,  and  save  him.  You  and  I  must  speak  angry  to  one 
another,  you  know  ;  then,  of  course,  I  must  see  him  home, 
and  he  can't  do  less  than  ask  me  to  dine  with  him.  At  all 
events,  thinkin'  that  I  saved  his  life,  we  will  become  ac- 
quainted.' " 

The  squire  paused  and  mused  for  some  time,  and  then 
asked,  "  Was  there  no  more  than  this  between  you  and 
him  ?" 

11  Nothing  more,  sir." 

"  And  tell  me,  did  he  pay  you  the  money  ?" 

"  Here  it  is,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  pulling  out  a  rag  in 
which  were  the  precise  number  of  guineas  mentioned. 

"  But,"  said  the  squire,  "  we  lost  our  way  in  the  fog." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  Rapparee.  "  Everything  turned  out 
in  his  favor.  That  made  very  little  difference.  You  would 
have  been  attacked  in  or  about  that  place,  whether  or  not." 

11  Yes,  but  did  you  not  attack  my  house  that  night  ?     Did 


WILLY  REILLY.  93 

not  you  yourself  come  down  by  the  skylight,  and  enter,  by 
violence,  into  my  daughter's  apartment  ?" 

"  Well,  when  I  heard  of  that,  sir,  I  said,  '  I  give  Reilly 
up  for  ingenuity.'  No,  sir,  that  was  his  own  trick  ;  but 
afther  all  it  was  a  bad  one,  and  tells  aginst  itself.  Why, 
sir,  neither  I  nor  any  of  my  men  have  the  power  of  makin' 
ourselves  invisible.  Do  you  think,  sir — I  put  it  to  your 
own  common-sense — that  if  we  had  been  there  no  one  would 
have  seen  us  ?  Wasn't  the  whole  country  for  miles  round 
searched  and  scoured,  and  I  ask  you,  sir,  was  there  hilt  or 
hair  of  me  or  any  one  of  my  men  seen  or  even  heard  of  ? 
Sir  Robert,  I  must  be  going  now,"  he  added.  "  I  hope 
Squire  Folliard  understands  what  kind  of  a  man  Reilly  is. 
As  for  myself,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"  Don't  go  yet,  O'Donnell,"  said  Whitecraft  ;  "let  us  de- 
termine what  is  to  be  done  with  him.  You  see  clearly  it  is 
necessary,  Mr.  Folliard,  that  this  deep-designing  Jesuit 
should  be  sent  out  of  the  country." 

"  I  would  give  half  my  estate  he  was  fairly  out  of  it," 
said  the  squire.  "  He  has  brought  calamity  and  misery  into 
my  family.  Created  world  !  how  I  and  mine  have  been  de- 
ceived and  imposed  upon  !  Away  with  him — a  thousand 
leagues  away  with  him  !  And  that  quickly  too  !  Oh,  the 
plausible,  deceitful  villain  !  My  child  !  my  child  !"  and 
here  the  old  man  burst  into  tears  of  the  bitterest  indigna- 
tion. "  Sir  Robert,  that  cursed  villain  was  born,  I  fear,  to 
be  the  shame  and  destruction  of  my  house  and  name." 

11  Don't  dream  of  such  a  thing,"  said  the  baronet.  "  On 
the  day  he  dined  here — and  you  cannot  forget  my  strong 
disinclination  to  meet  him — but  even  on  that  day  you  will 
recollect  the  treasonable  language  he  used  against  the  laws 
of  the  realm.  After  my  return  home  I  took  a  note  of  them, 
and  I  trust  that  you,  sir,  will  corroborate,  with  respect  to 
this  fact,  the  testimony  which  it  is  my  purpose  to  give 
against  him.  I  say  this  the  rather,  Mr.  Folliard,  because  it 
might  seriously  compromise  your  own  character  with  the 
Government,  and  as  a  magistrate,  too,  to  hear  treasonable 
and  seditious  language  at  your  own  table,  from  a  Papist 
Jesuit,  and  yet  decline  to  report  it  to  the  authorities." 

"The  laws,  the  authorities,  and  you  be  hanged,  sir!" 
replied  the  squire  ;  "  my  table  is,  and  has  been,  and  ever 
shall  be,  the  altar  of  confidence  to  my  guests  ;  I  shall  never 


94  IV ILLY  RE  ILLY. 

violate  the  laws  of  hospitality.  Treat  the  man  fairly,  I  say, 
concoct  no  plot  against  him,  bribe  no  false  witnesses,  and  if 
he  is  justly  amenable  to  the  law  I  will  spend  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  have  him  sent  anywhere  out  of  the  country." 

"He  keeps  arms,"  observed  Sir  Robert,  "contrary  to 
the  penal  enactments." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  squire  ;  "he  told  me  he  was  on 
a  duck-shooting  expedition  that  night,  and  when  I  asked 
him  where  he  got  his  arms,  he  said  that  his  neighbor,  Bob 
Gosford,  always  lent  him  his  gun  whenever  he  felt  disposed 
to  shoot,  and,  to  my  own  knowledge,  so  did  many  other 
Protestant  magistrates  in  the  neighborhood,  for  this  wily 
Jesuit  is  a  favorite  with  most  of  them." 

"  But  I  know  where  he  has  arms  concealed,"  said  the 
Rapparee,  looking  significantly  at  the  baronet,  "  and  I  will 
be  able  to  find  them,  too,  when  the  proper  time  comes." 

"  Ha  !  indeed,  O'Donnell,"  said  Sir  Robert,  with  well- 
feigned  surprise  ;  "  then  there  will  be  no  lack  of  proof 
against  him,  you  may  rest  assured,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  I  charge 
myself  with  the  management  of  the  whole  affair.  I  trust, 
sir,  you  will  leave  it  to  me,  and  I  have  only  one  favor  to 
ask,  and  that  is  the  hand  of  your  fair  daughter  when  he  is 
disposed  of." 

"  She  shall  be  yours,  Sir  Robert,  the  moment  that  this 
treacherous  villain  can  be  removed  by  the  fair  operation  of 
the  laws  ;  but  I  will  never  sanction  any  dishonorable  treat- 
ment towards  him.  By  the  laws  of  the  land  let  him  stand 
or  fall." 

At  this  moment  a  sneeze  of  tremendous  strength  and 
loudness  was  heard  immediately  outside  the  door  ;  a  sneeze 
which  made  the  hair  of  the  baronet  almost  stand  on  end. 

"  What  the  devil  is  that?"  asked  the  squire.  "  By  the 
great  Boyne,  I  fear  some  one  has  been  listening  after  all." 

The  Rapparee,  always  apprehensive  of  the  "  authorities," 
started  behind  a  screen,  and  the  baronet,  although  uncon- 
scious of  any  cause  for  terror,  stood  rather  undecided. 
The  sneeze,  however,  was  repeated,  and  this  time  it  was  a 
double  one. 

"  Curse  it,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire,  "  have  you  not 
the  use  of  your  legs  ?  Go  and  see  whether  there  has  been 
an  eavesdropper." 

11  Yes,  Mr.  Folliard,"  replied  the  doughty  baronet,  "  but 


WILLY  REILLY.  95 

your  house  has  the  character  of  being  haunted  ;  and  I  have 
a  terror  of  ghosts." 

The  squire  himself  got  up,  and,  seizing  a  candle,  went 
outside  the  door,  but  nothing  in  human  shape  was  visible. 

11  Come  here,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  that  sneeze  came 
from  no  ghost,  I'll  swear.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  ghost  sneez- 
ing ?  Never  mind,  though  ;  for  the  curiosity  of  the  thing  I 
will  examine  for  myself,  and  return  to  you  in  a  few  min- 
utes." 

He  accordingly  left  them,  and  in  a  short  time  came  back, 
assuring  them  that  every  one  in  the  house  was  in  a  state  of 
the  most  profound  repose,  and  that  it  was  his  opinion  it 
must  have  been  a  cat. 

11  I  might  think  so  myself,"  observed  the  baronet,  "  were 
it  not  for  the  double  sneeze.  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Folliard, 
that  the  report  is  too  true — and  that  the  house  is  haunted. 
O'Donnell,  you  must  come  home  with  me  to-night." 

O'Donnell,  who  entertained  no  apprehension  of  ghosts, 
finding  that  the  "  authorities"  were  not  in  question,  agreed 
to  go  with  him,  although  he  had  a  small  matter  on  hand 
which  required  his  presence  in  another  part  of  the  country. 

The  baronet,  however,  had  gained  his  point.  The  heart 
of  the  hasty  and  unreflecting  squire  had  been  poisoned,  and 
not  one  shadow  of  doubt  remained  on  his  mind  of  Reilly's 
treachery.  And  that  which  convinced  him  beyond  all  argu- 
ments or  assertions  was  the  fact  that  on  the  night  of  the 
premeditated  attack  on  his  house  not  one  of  the  Red  Rap- 
paree's  gang  was  seen,  or  any  trace  of  them  discovered. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    WARNING — AN    ESCAPE. 

REILLY,  in  the  meantime,  was  not  insensible  to  his 
danger.  About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  as  he 
was  walking  in  his  garden,  Tom  Steeple  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  approached  him  with  a  look  of  caution  and  sig- 
nificance. 

11  Well,  Tom,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  news  ?" 


96  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

Tom  made  no  reply,  but  catching  him  gently  by  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat,  said,  "  Come  wid  Tom  ;  Tom  has  news  for 
you.  Here  it  is,  in  de  paper  ;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  hand- 
ed him  a  letter,  the  contents  of  which  we  give  : 

"Dearest  Reilly  :  The  dreadful  discovery  I  have 
made,  the  danger  and  treachery  and  vengeance  by  which 
you  are  surrounded,  but,  above  all,  my  inexpressible  love 
for  you,  will  surely  justify  me  in  not  losing  a  moment  to 
write  to  you  ;  and  I  select  this  poor  creature  as  my  messen- 
ger because  he  is  least  likely  to  be  suspected.  It  is  through 
him  that  the  discovery  of  the  accursed  plot  against  you  has 
been  made.  It  appears  that  he  slept  in  the  castle  last 
night,  as  he  often  does,  and  having  observed  Sir  Thomas 
Whitecraft  and  that  terrible  man,  the  Red  Rapparee,  com- 
ing into  the  house,  and  going  along  with  papa  into  his 
study,  evidently  upon  some  private  business,  he  resolved  to 
listen.  He  did  so,  and  overheard  the  Rapparee  stating  to 
papa  that  every  thing  which  took  place  on  the  evening  you 
saved  his  life  and  frustrated  his  other  designs  upon  the  castle, 
was  a  plan  preconceited  by  you  for  the  purpose  of  making 
papa's  acquaintance  and  getting  introduced  to  the  family  in 
order  to  gain  my  affections.  Alas  !  if  you  have  resorted  to 
such  a  plan,  you  have  but  too  well  succeeded.  Do  not, 
however,  for  one  moment  imagine  that  I  yield  any  credit  to 
this  atrocious  falsehood.  It  has  been  concocted  by  your 
base  and  unmanly  rival,  Whitecraft,  by  whom  all  the  pro- 
ceedings against  you  are  to  be  conducted.  Some  violation 
of  the  penal  laws,  in  connection  with  carrying  or  keeping 
arms,  is  to  be  brought  against  you,  and  unless  you  are  on 
your  guard  you  will  be  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison, 
and  if  not  convicted  of  a  capital  offence  and  executed  like  a 
felon,  you  will  at  least  be  sent  forever  out  of  the  country. 
What  is  to  be  done  ?  If  you  have  arms  in  or  about  your 
house  let  them  be  forthwith  removed  to  some  place  of  con- 
cealment. The  Rapparee  is  to  get  a  pardon  from  govern- 
ment, at  least  he  is  promised  it  by  Sir  Robert,  if  he  turns 
against  you.  In  one  word,  dearest  Reilly,  you  cannot,  with 
safety  to  your  life,  remain  in  this  country.  You  must  fly 
from  it,  and  immediately  too.  I  wish  to  see  you.  Come 
this  night,  at  half-past  ten,  to  the  back  gate  of  our  garden, 
which  you  will  find  shut,  but  unlocked.     Something — is  it 


WILLY  REILLY.  97 

my  heart  ? — tells  me  that  our  fates  are  henceforth  insepara- 
ble, whether  for  joy  or  sorrow.  1  ought  to  tell  you  that  I 
confessed  my  affection  for  you  to  papa  on  the  evening  you 
dined  here,  and  he  was  not  angry  ;  but  this  morning  he  in- 
sisted that  I  should  never  think  of  you  more,  nor  mention 
your  name  ;  and  he  says  that  if  the  laws  can  do  it  he  will 
lose  ten  thousand  pounds  or  he  will  have  you  sent  out  of  the 
country.  Lanigan,  our  cook,  from  what  motive  I  know 
not,  mentioned  to  me  the  substance  of  what  I  have  now 
written.  He  is,  it  seems,  a  cousin  to  the  bearer  of  this,  and 
got  the  information  from  him  after  having  had  much  diffi- 
culty, he  says,  in  putting  it  together.  I  know  not  how  it  is, 
but  I  can  assure  you  that  every  servant  in  the  castle  seems 
to  know  that  I  am  attached  to  you. 

11  Ever,  my  dearest  Reilly,  yours,  and  yours  only,  until 
death,  Helen  Folliard." 

We  need  not  attempt  to  describe  the  sensations  of  love 
and  indignation  produced  by  this  letter.  But  we  shall  state 
the  facts. 

"  Here,  Tom,"  said  Reilly,  **  is  the  reward  for  your  fidel- 
ity," as  he  handed  him  some  silver  ;  "  and  mark  me,  Tom, 
don't  breathe  to  a  human  being  that  you  have  brought  me  a 
letter  from  the  Cooleen  Bawn.  Go  into  the  house  and  get 
something  to  eat  ;  there  now — go  and  get  one  of  your  bully 
dinners." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  he,  "  too  true  I  am  doomed — devoted. 
If  I  remain  in  this  country  I  am  lost.  Yes,  my  life,  my 
love,  my  more  than  life— I  feel  as  you  do,  that  our  fates, 
whether  for  good  or  evil,  are  inseparable.  Yes,  I  shall  see 
you  this  night  if  I  have  life." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded  this  soliloquy  when  his  name- 
sake, Fergus  Reilly,  disguised  in  such  a  way  as  prevented 
him  from  being  recognized,  approached  him,  in  the  lowly 
garb  of  a  baccah  or  mendicant. 

11  Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  want  ? 
Go  up  to  the  house  and  you  will  get  food." 

"  Keep  quiet,"  replied  the  uther,  disclosing  himself, 
"  keep  quiet  ;  get  all  your  money  into  one  purse,  settle  your 
affairs  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  fly  the  country  this  night, 
or  otherwise  sit  down  and  make  your  will  and  your  peace 
with  God  Almighty,  for  if  you  are  found  here  by  to-morrow 


9 3  WILLY  R LILLY. 

night  you  sleep  in  Sligo  jail.  Throw  me  a  few  halfpence, 
making  as  it  were  charity.  Whitecraft  has  spies  among 
your  own  laborers,  and  you  know  the  danger  I  run  in 
comin'  to  you  by  daylight.  Indeed,  I  could  not  do  it  with- 
out this  disguise.  To-morrow  night  you  are  to  be  taken 
upon  a  warrant  from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  ;  but  never 
mind  ;  as  to  Whitecraft,  leave  him  to  me — I  have  a  crow  to 
pluck  with  him." 

"  How  is  that,  Fergus  ?" 

"  My  sister,  man  ;  did  you  not  hear  of  it  ?" 

"  No,  Fergus,  nor  I  don't  wish  to  hear  of  it,  for  your 
sake  ;  spare  your  feelings,  my  poor  fellow  ;  I  know  per- 
fectly well  what  a  hypocritical  scoundrel  he  is." 

"  Well,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it  was  only  yesterday  I  heard 
of  it  myself  ;  and  are  we  to  bear  this  ? — we  that  have  hands 
and  eyes  and  limbs  and  hearts  and  courage  to  stand  nobly 
upon  the  gallows-tree  for  striking  down  the  villain  who  does 
whatever  he  likes,  and  then  threatens  us  with  the  laws  of  the 
land  if  we  murmur  ?     Do  you  think  this  is  to  be  borne  ?" 

"  Take  not  vengeance  into  your  own  hand,  Fergus," 
replied  Reilly,  "  for  that  is  contrary  to  the  laws  of  God  and 
man.  As  for  me,  I  agree  with  you  that  I  cannot  remain  in 
this  country.  I  know  the  vast  influence  which  Whitecraft 
possesses  with  the  government.  Against  such  a  man  I 
have  no  chance  ;  this,  taken  in  connection  with  my  education 
abroad,  is  quite  sufficient  to  make  me  a  marked  and  sus- 
pected man.  I  will  therefore  leave  the  country,  and  ere  to- 
morrow night,  I  trust,  I  shall  be  beyond  his  reach.  But, 
Fergus,  listen  :  leave  Whitecraft  to  God  ;  do  not  stain  your 
soul  with  human  blood  ;  keep  a  pure  heart,  and  whatever 
may  happen  be  able  to  look  up  to  the  Almighty  with  a 
clear  conscience." 

Fergus  then  left  him,  but  with  a  resolution,  nevertheless, 
to  have  vengeance  upon  the  baronet  very  unequivocally  ex- 
pressed on  his  countenance. 

Having  seriously  considered  his  position  and  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  danger  connected  with  it,  Reilly  resolved  that 
his  interview  that  night  with  his  beloved  Cooleen  Bawn 
should  be  his  last.  Fie  accordingly  communicated  his  ap- 
prehensions to  an  aged  uncle  of  his  who  resided  with  him, 
and  entrusted  the  management  of  his  property  to  him  until 
some  change  for  the  better  might  take  place.     Having  heard 


WILLY  REILLY.  99 

from  Fergus  Reilly  that  there  were  spies  among  his  own 
laborers,  he  kept  moving  about  and  making  such  observa- 
tions as  he  could  for  the  remainder  of  the  day.  When  the 
night  came  he  prepared  himself  for  his  appointment,  and 
at,  or  rather  before,  the  hour  of  half-past  ten,  he  had 
reached  the  back  gate,  or  rather  door  of  the  garden  at- 
tached to  Corbo  Castle.  Having  ascertained  that  it  was 
unlocked,  he  entered  with  no  difficulty,  and  traversed  the 
garden  without  being  able  to  perceive  her  whose  love  was 
now,  it  might  be  said,  all  that  life  had  left  him.  After  hav- 
ing satisfied  himself  that  she  was  not  in  the  garden,  he  with- 
drew to  an  arbor  or  summer-house  of  evergreens,  where  he 
resolved  to  await  until  she  should  come.  He  did  not  wait 
long.  The  latch  of  the  entrance  gate  from  the  front  made  a 
noise  ;  ah,  how  his  heart  beat  !  what  a  commotion  agitated 
his  whole  frame  !     In  a  few  moments  she  was  with  him. 

11  Reilly,"  said  Cooleen  Baum,  "  I  have  dreadful  news  to 
communicate. ' ' 

"  I  know  all,"  said  he  ;  "I  am  to  be  arrested  to-morrow 
night." 

"  To-night,  dearest  Reilly,  to-night.  Papa  told  me  this 
evening,  in  one  of  his  moods  of  anger,  that  before  to-mor- 
row morning  you  would  be  in  Sligo  jail." 

"Well,  dearest  Helen,"  he  replied,  "that  is  certainly 
making  quick  work  of  it.  But,  even  so,  I  am  prepared  this 
moment  to  escape.  I  have  settled  my  affairs,  left  the  man- 
agement of  them  to  my  uncle,  and  this  interview  with  you, 
my  beloved  girl,  must  be  our  last." 

As  he  uttered  these  melancholy  words  the  tears  came  to 
his  eyes. 

"  The  last  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  no  ;  it  must  not  be 
the  last.  You  shall  not  go  alone,  dearest  William.  My 
mind  is  made  up.  Be  it  for  life  or  for  death,  I  shall  accom- 
pany you." 

11  Dearest  life,"  he  replied,  "  think  of  the  consequences." 

"  I  think  of  nothing,"  said  Cooleen  Bawny  "  but  my  love 
for  you.  If  you  were  not  surrounded  by  danger  as  you  are, 
if  the  whoop  of  vengeance  were  not  on  your  trail,  if  death 
and  a  gibbet  were  not  in  the  background,  I  could  part  with 
you  ;  but  now  that  danger,  vengeance,  and  death,  are  hover- 
ing about  you,  I  shall  and  must  partake  of  them  with  you. 
And  listen,  Reilly  ;  after  all  it  is  the  best  plan.     Papa,  if  I 


ioo  WILLY  REILLY. 

accompany  you — supposing  that  we  are  taken — will  relent  for 
my  sake.  I  know  his  love  for  me.  His  affection  for  me 
will  overcome  all  his  prejudices  against  you.  Then  let  us 
fly.  To-night  you  will  be  taken.  Your  rival  will  triumph 
over  both  of  us  ;  and  I — I,  oh  !  I  shall  not  survive  it. 
Save  me,  then,  Reilly,  and  let  me  fly  with  you." 

11  God  knows,"  replied  Reilly,  with  deep  emotion,  "  if  I 
suffered  myself  to  be  guided  by  the  impulse  of  my  heart,  I 
would  yield  to  wishes  at  once  so  noble  and  disinterested.  I 
cannot,  however,  suffer  my  affection,  absorbing  and  inex- 
pressible as  it  is,  to  precipitate  your  ruin.  I  speak  not  of 
myself,  nor  of  what  I  may  suffer.  When  we  reflect,  how- 
ever, my  beloved  girl,  upon  the  state  of  the  country,  and  of 
the  law,  as  it  operates  against  the  liberty  and  property  of 
Catholics,  we  must  both  admit  the  present  impossibility  of 
an  elopement  without  involving  you  in  disgrace.  You 
know  that  until  some  relaxation  of  the  laws  affecting  mar- 
riage between  Catholics  and  Protestants  takes  place,  an 
union  between  us  is  impossible  ;  and  this  fact  it  is  which 
would  attach  disgrace  to  you,  and  a  want  of  honor,  prin- 
ciple, and  gratitude  to  me.  We  should  necessarily  lead 
the  lives  of  the  guilty,  and  seek  the  wildest  fastnesses  of  the 
mountain  solitudes  and  the  oozy  caverns  of  the  bleak  and 
solitary  hills." 

11  But  I  care  not.  1  am  willing  to  endure  it  all  for  your 
sake." 

11  What  ! — the  shame,  the  misinterpretation,  the  imputed 
guilt  ?' ' 

"  Neither  care  I  for  shame  or  imputed  guilt,  so  long  as  I 
am  innocent,  and  you  safe." 

11  Concealment,  my  dearest  girl,  would  be  impossible. 
Such  a  hue  and  cry  would  be  raised  after  us  as  would  ren- 
der nothing  short  of  positive  invisibility  capable  of  protect- 
ing us  from  our  enemies.  Then  your  father  ! — such  a  step 
might  possibly  break  his  heart  ;  a  calamity  which  would  fill 
your  mind  with  remorse  to  the  last  day  of  your  life  !" 

She  burst  again  into  tears,  and  replied,  "  But  as  for  you, 
what  can  be  done  to  save  you  from  the  toils  of  your  un- 
scrupulous and  powerful  enemies  ?" 

11  To  that,  my  beloved  Helen,  I  must  forthwith  look.  In 
the  meantime,  let  me  gather  patience  and  await  some  more 
favorable  relaxation  in  the  penal  code.     At  present,  the  step 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  ioi 

you  propose  would  be  utter  destruction  to  us  both,  and  an 
irretrievable  stain  upon  our  reputation.  You  will  return  to 
your  father's  house,  and  I  shall  seek  some  secure  place  of 
concealment  until  I  can  safely  reach  the  continent,  from 
whence  I  shall  contrive  to  let  you  hear  from  me,  and  in  due 
time  may  possibly  be  able  to  propose  some  mode  of  meeting 
in  a  country  where  the  oppressive  laws  that  separate  us  here 
shall  not  stand  in  the  way  of  our  happiness.  In  the  mean- 
time, let  our  hearts  be  guided  by  hope  and  constancy." 
After  a  mournful  and  tender  embrace  they  separated. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  agony  of  the  lovers 
after  a  separation  which  might  probably  be  their  last.  Our 
readers,  however,  may  very  well  conceive  it,  and  it  is  not 
our  intention  to  describe  it  here.  At  this  stage  of  our  story, 
Reilly,  who  was,  as  we  have  said,  in  consequence  of  his  gen- 
tlemanly manners  and  liberal  principles,  a  favorite  with  all 
classes  and  all  parties,  and  entertained  no  apprehensions 
from  the  dominant  party,  took  his  way  homewards  deeply 
impressed  with  the  generous  affections  which  his  Coolecn 
Bawn  had  expressed  for  him.  He  consequently  looked 
upon  himself  as  perfectly  safe  in  his  own  house.  The  state 
of  society  in  Ireland,  however,  was  at  that  melancholy 
period  so  uncertain  that  no  Roman  Catholic,  however  pop- 
ular, or  however  innocent,  could  for  one  week  calculate 
upon  safety  either  to  his  property  or  person,  if  he  happened 
to  have  an  enemy  who  possessed  any  influence  in  the  oppos- 
ing Church.  Religion  thus  was  made  the  stalking-horse, 
not  only  of  power,  but  of  persecution,  rapacity,  and  selfish- 
ness, and  the  unfortunate  Roman  Catholic  who  considered 
himself  safe  to-day  might  find  himself  ruined  to-morrow, 
owing  to  the  cupidity  of  some  man  who  turned  a  lustful  eye 
upon  his  property,  or  who  may  have  entertained  a  feeling  of 
personal  ill-will  against  him.  Be  this  as  it  may,  Reilly  wended 
his  melancholy  way  homewards,  and  had  got  within  less 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  his  own  house  when  he  was  met 
by  Fergus  in  his  mendicant  habit,  who  startled  him  by  the 
information  he  disclosed. 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for,  Mr.  Reilly  ?"   said  the  latter. 

11  For  home,"  replied  Reilly,  "  in  order  to  secure  my 
money  and  the  papers  connected  with  the  family  property." 

11  Well,  then,"  said  the  other,  "  if  you  go  home  now  you 
are  a  lost  man." 


102  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  How  is  that  ?"  asked  Reilly. 

"  Your  house  at  this  moment  is  filled  with  sogers,  and 
surrounded  by  them  too.  Yoa  know  that  no  human  being 
could  make  me  out  in  this  disguise  ;  I  had  heard  that  they 
were  on  their  way  to  your  place,  and  afeered  that  they 
might  catch  you  at  home,  I  was  goin'  to  let  you  know,  in 
ordher  that  you  might  escape  them,  but  I  was  too  late  ;  the 
villains  were  there  before  me.  I  took  heart  o'  grace,  how- 
ever, and  went  up  to  beg  a  little  charity  for  the  love  and 
honor  of  God.  Seem'  the  kind  of  creature  I  was,  they  took 
no  notice  of  me  ;  for  to  tell  you  the  truth  they  were  too 
much  bent  on  searchin'  for,  and  nndin'  you.  God  protect 
us  from  such  men,  Mr.  Reilly,"  and  the  name  he  uttered  in 
a  low  and  cautious  voice  ;  "  but  at  all  events  this  is  no 
country  for  you  to  live  in  now.  But  who  do  you  think  was 
the  busiest  and  the  bittherest  man  among  them  ?" 

"  Why  Whitecraft,  I  suppose." 

"  No  ;  he  wasn't  there  himself — no  ;  but  that  double  dis- 
tilled traitor  and  villain,  the  Red  Rapparee,  and  bad  luck  to 
him.  You  see,  then,  that  if  you  attempt  to  go  near  your 
own  house  you're  a  lost  man,  as  I  said." 

"  I  feel  the  truth  of  what  you  say,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but 
are  you  aware  that  they  committed  any  acts  of  violence  ? 
Are  you  aware  that  they  disturbed  my  property  or  ran- 
sacked my  house  ?" 

"  Well,  that's  more  than  I  can  say,"  replied  Fergus,  "  for 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  afraid  to  trust  myself  inside,  in 
regard  of  that  scoundrel  the  Rapparee,  who,  bein*  himself 
accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  disguises,  I  dreaded  might  find 
me  out." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,"  said  Reilly,  "  with  respect  to  that 
I  disregard  them.  The  family  papers  and  other  available 
property  are  too  well  secreted  for  them  to  secure  them. 
On  discovering  Whitecraft's  jealousy,  and  knowing,  as  I  did 
before,  his  vindictive  spirit  and  power  in  the  country,  I  lost 
no  time  in  putting  them  in  a  safe  place.  Unless  they  burn 
the  house  they  could  never  come  at  them.  But  as  this  fact 
is  not  at  all  an  improbable  one — so  long  as  Whitecraft  is  my 
unscrupulous  and  relentless  enemy — I  shall  seize  upon  the 
first  opportunity  of  placing  them  elsewhere." 

"You  ought  to  do  so,"  said  Fergus,  "for  it  is  not 
merely  Whitecraft  you  have  to  deal  wid,  but   ould  Folliard 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  103 

himself,    who  now  swears  that  if  he  should  lose  half  his  for- 
tune he  will  either  hang  or  transport  you." 

"  Ah  !  Fergus,"  replied  the  other,  "  there  is  an  essential 
difference  between  the  characters  of  these  two  men.  The 
father  of  Coolcen  Bawn  is,  when  he  thinks  himself  injured, 
impetuous  and  unsparing  in  his  resentment  ;  but  then  he  is 
an  open  foe,  and  the  man  whom  he  looks  upon  as  his  enemy 
always  knows  what  he  has  to  expect  from  him.  Not  so  the 
other  ;  he  is  secret,  cautious,  cowardly,  and  consequently 
doubly  vindictive.  He  is  a  combination  of  the  fox  and  the 
tiger,  with  all  the  treacherous  cunning  of  the  one,  and  the 
indomitable  ferocity  of  the  other,  when  he  finds  that  he  can 
make  his  spring  with  safety." 

This  conversation  took  place  as  Reilly  and  his  companion 
bent  their  steps  towards  one  of  those  antiquated  and  obso- 
lete roads  which  we  have  described  in  the  opening  portion 
of  this  narrative. 

11  But  now,"  asked  Fergus,  "  where  do  you  intend  to  go, 
or  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  yourself  ?" 

"I  scarcely  know,"  replied  Reilly,  "but  on  one  thing 
my  mind  is  determined — that  I  will  not  leave  this  country 
until  I  know  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn.  Rather 
than  see  her  become  the  wife  of  that  diabolical  scoundrel, 
whom  she  detests  as  she  does  hell,  I  would  lose  my  life. 
Let  the  consequences  then  be  what  they  may,  I  will  not  for 
the  present  leave  Ireland.  This  resolution  I  have  come  to 
since  I  saw  her  to-night.  I  am  her  only  friend,  and,  so  help 
me  God,  I  shall  not  suffer  her  to  be  sacrificed — murdered. 
In  the  course  of  the  night  we  shall  return  to  my  house  and 
look  about  us.  If  the  coast  be  clear  I  will  secure  my  cash 
and  papers  as  I  said.  It  is  possible  that  a  few  stragglers 
may  lurk  behind,  under  the  expectation  of  securing  me  while 
making  a  stolen  visit.  However,  we  shall  try.  We  are  un- 
der the  scourge  of  irresponsible  power,  Fergus  ;  and  if 
Whitecraft  should  burn  my  house  to-night  or  to-morrow, 
who  is  to  bring  him  to  an  account  for  it  ?  or  if  they  should, 
who  is  to  convict  him  ?" 

The  night  had  now  become  very  dark,  but  they  knew  the 
country  well,  and  soon  found  themselves  upon  the  old  road 
they  were  seeking. 

"  I  will  go  up,"  said  Reilly,  "  to  the  cabin  of  poor  widow 
Buckley,  where  we  will   stop   until  we   think  those  blood- 


104  IV ILLY  RELLLY. 

hounds  have  gone  home.  She  has  a  free  cottage  and  gar- 
den from  me,  and  has  besides  been  a  pensioner  of  mine 
for  some  time  back,  and  I  know  I  can  depend  upon  her 
discretion  and  fidelity.  Her  little  place  is  remote  and 
solitary,  and  not  more  than  three  quarters  of  a  mile  from 
us." 

They  accordingly  kept  the  old  road  for  some  time,  until 
they  reached  a  point  of  it  where  there  was  an  abrupt  angle, 
when,  to  their  utter  alarm  and  consternation,  they  found 
themselves  within  about  twenty  or  thirty  yards  of  a  military 
party. 

"  Fly,"  whispered  Fergus,  "  and  leave  me  to  deal  with 
them — if  you  don't  it's  all  up  with  you.  They  won't  know 
me  from  Adam,  but  they'll  know  you  at  a  glance." 

11  I  cannot  leave  you  in  danger,"  said  Reilly. 

11  You're  mad,"  replied  the  other.  "  It  is  an  ould  beggar 
man  they'd  meddle  with.  Off  with  you,  unelss  you  wish  to 
sleep  in  Sligo  jail  before  mornin'." 

Reilly,  who  felt  too  deeply  the  truth  of  what  he  said, 
bounded  across  the  bank  which  enclosed  the  road  on  the 
right-hand  side,  and  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  tolerably  high 
one,  but  fortunately  without  bushes.  In  the  meantime  a 
voice  cried  out,  "  Who  goes  there  ?  Stand  at  your  peril,  or 
you  will  have  a  dozen  bullets  in  your  carcass." 

Fergus  advanced  towards  them,  whilst  they  themselves 
approached  him  at  a  rapid  pace,  until  they  met.  In  a  mo- 
ment they  were  all  about  him. 

"  Come,  my  customer,"  said  their  leader,  "  who  and  what 
are  you  ?     Quick — give  an  account  of  yourself." 

"  A  poor  creature  that's  lookin'  for  my  bit,  sir,  God  help 
me." 

11  What's  your  name  ?" 

"  One  Paddy  Brennan,  sir,  please  your  honor." 

"  Ay — one  Paddy  Brennan  (hiccough),  and — and — one 
Paddy  Brennan,  where  do  you  go  of  a  Sunday  ?" 

11  I  don't  go  out  at  all,  sir,  of  a  Sunda';  whenever  I  stop 
of  a  Saturday  night  I  always  stop  until  Monday  mornin'." 

"  I  mean,  are  you  a  Papish  ?" 

"  Troth,  I  oughtn't  to  say  I  am,  your  honor — or  at  least 
a  very  bad  one." 

11  But  you  are  a  Papish." 

"  A  kind  of  one,  sir." 


WILLY  REILLY.  105 

"  Curse  me,  the  fellow's  humbuggin'  you,  sergeant,"  said 
one  of  the  men  ;   "  to  be  sure  he's  a  Papish." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  several  of  the  others — "  doesn't  he 
admit  he's  a  Papish  ?" 

"Blow  me,  if — if — I'll  bear  this,"  replied  the  sergeant. 
11  I'm  a  senior  off — off — officer  conductin'  the  examination, 
and  I'll  suffer  no — no — man  to  intherfare.  I  must  have 
subor — or — ordination,  or  I'll  know  what  for.  Leave  him 
to  me,  then,  and  I'll  work  him  up,  never  fear.  George  John- 
ston isn't  the  blessed  babe  to  be  imposed  upon — that's  what 
1  say.  Come,  my  good  fellow,  mark — mark  me  now.  If 
you  let  but  a  quarter  of — of — an  inch  of  a  lie  out  of  your 
lips,  you're  a  dead  man.     Are  you  all  charged,  gentlemen  ?" 

11  All  charged,  sergeant,  with  loyalty  and  poteen  at  any 
rate  ;  hang  the  Pope." 

11  Shoulder  arms — well  done.  Present  arms.  "Where  is 
— is — this  rascal  ?  Oh,  yes,  here  he  is.  Well,  you  are  there 
— are  you  ?" 

11  I'm  here,  captain." 

"  Well,  blow  me,  that's  not — not — bad,  my  good  fellow  ; 
if  I'm  not  a  captain,  worse  men  have  been  so  (hiccough)  ; 
that's  what  I  say." 

11  Hadn't  we  better  make  a  prisoner  of  him  at  once,  and 
bring  him  to  Sir  Robert's  ?"  observed  another. 

"  Simpson,  hold — old — your  tongue,  I  say.  Curse  me 
if  I'll  suffer  any  man  to  intherfere  with  me  in  the  discharge 
of  my  duty." 

"  How  do  we  know,"  said  another,  "  but  he's  a  Rapparee 
in  disguise  ? — for  that  matter,  he  may  be  Reilly  himself." 

11  Captain  and  gentlemen,"  said  Fergus,  "  if  you  have 
any  suspicion  of  me,  I'm  willin'  to  go  anywhere  you  like  ; 
and,  above  all  things,  I'd  like  to  go  to  Sir  Robert's,  bekaise 
they  know  me  there — many  a  good  bit  and  sup  I  got  in  his 
kitchen." 

11  Ho,  ho  !"  exclaimed  the  sergeant  ;  "  now  I  have  you 
— now  I  know  whether  you  can  tell  truth  or  not.  Answer 
me  this.  Did  ever  Sir  Robert  himself  give  you  charity  ? 
Come,  now." 

Fergus  perceived  the  drift  of  the  question  at  once.  The 
penurious  character  of  the  baronet  was  so  well  known 
throughout  the  whole  barony  that  if  he  had  replied  in  the 
affirmative  every  man  of  them  would  have  felt  that  the  as- 


io5  WILLY  REILLY 

scrtion  was  a  lie,  and  he  would  consequently  have  been  de- 
tected.    He  was  prepared,  however. 

11  Throth  then,  gintlemen,"  he  replied,  "  since  you  must 
have  the  truth,  and  although  maybe  what  I'm  goin'  to  say 
won't  be  plaisin'  to  you,  as  Sir  Robert's  friends,  I  must 
come  out  wid  it  ;  devil  resave  the  color  of  his  money  ever  I 
seen  yet,  and  it  isn't  but  I  often  axed  him  for  it.  No — but 
the  sarvints  often  sind  me  up  a  bit  from  the  kitchen  below." 

"  Well,  come,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  if  you  have  been  lyin' 
all  your  life,  you've  spoke  the  truth  now.  I  think  we  may 
let  him  go." 

"  I  don't  think  we  ought,"  said  one  of  them,  named 
Steen,  a  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  of  Dutch  de- 
scent ;  "  as  Barnet  said,  '  we  don't  know  what  he  is,'  and 
I  agree  with  him.  He  may  be  a  Rapparee  in  disguise,  or, 
what  is  worse,  Reilly  himself." 

"  What  Reilly  do  yez  mane,  gintlemen,  wid  submission  ?" 
asked  Fergus. 

"Why,  Willy  Reilly,  the  famous  Papish,"  replied  the 
sergeant  (We  don't  wish  to  fatigue  the  reader  with  his 
drunken  stutterings).  "  It  has  been  sworn  that  he's  training 
the  Papishes  every  night  to  prepare  them  for  rebellion,  and 
there's  a  warrant  out  for  his  apprehension.  Do  you  know 
him  .?" 

"  Throth  I  do,  well  ;  and  to  tell  yez  the  truth,  he  doesn't 
stand  very  high  wid  his  own  sort." 

"  Why  so,  my  good  fellow  ?" 

11  Bekaise  they  think  that  he  keeps  too  much  company  wid 
Prodestans,  an'  that  he's  half  a  Prodestan  himself,  and  that 
it's  only  the  shame  that  prevents  him  from  goin'  over  to 
them  altogether.  Indeed,  it's  the  general  opinion  among 
the  Catholics — " 

11  Papishes  !  you  old  dog." 

"Well,  then,  Papishes— that  he  will— an'  troth,  I  don't 
think  the  Papishes  would  put  much  trust  in  the  same  man." 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for  now?  and  what  brings  you 
out  at  an  illegal  hour  on  this  lonely  road  ?"  asked  Steen. 

V  Troth,  then,  I'm  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Graham's  above  ; 
for  sure,  whenever  I'm  near  him,  poor  Paddy  Brennan  never 
wants  for  the  good  bit  and  sup,  and  the  comfortable  straw 
bed  in  the  barn.     May  God  reward  him  and  his  for  it  !" 

Now,  the  truth  was,  that  Graham,  a  wealthy  and  respect- 


WILLY  REILLY.  107 

able  Protestant  farmer,  was  uncle  to  the  sergeant  ;  a  fact 
■which  Fergus  well  knew,  in  consequence  of  having  been  a 
house  servant  with  him  for  two  or  three  years. 

"  Sergeant,"  said  the  Williamite  settler,  "  I  think  this 
matter  may  be  easily  settled.  Let  two  of  the  men  go  back 
to  your  uncle's  with  him,  and  see  whether  they  know  him 
there  or  not." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  sergeant,  "  let  you  and  Simpson 
go  back  with  him — I  have  no  objection.  If  my  uncle's  peo- 
ple don't  know  him,  why  then  bring  him  down  to  Sir 
Robert's." 

"  It's  not  fair  to  put  such  a  task  upon  a  man  of  my  age," 
replied  Steen,  "  when  you  know  that  you  have  younger  men 
here." 

11  It  was  you  proposed  it,  then,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  and 
I  say,  Steen,  if  you  be  a  true  man  you  have  a  right  to  go, 
and  no  right  at  all  to  shirk  your  duty.  But  stop — I'll  settle 
it  in  a  word's  speaking  :  here  you — you  old  Papish,  where 
are  you  ? — oh,  I  see — you're  there,  are  you  ?  Come  now, 
gentlemen,  shoulder  arms — all  right — present  arms.  Now, 
you  confounded  Papish,  you  say  that  you  have  often  slept  in 
my  Uncle's  barn  ?" 

"Is  Mr.  Graham  your  uncle,  sir? — bekaise,  if  he  is,  I 
know  that  I'm  in  the  hands  of  a  respectable  man." 

11  Come  now — was  there  any  thing  particular  in  the  inside 
of  that  barn  ? — Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  to  slap  into  him 
if  we  find  him  to  be  an  imposther  ?" 

"  All  ready,  sergeant." 

11  Come,  now,  you  blasted  Papish,  answer  me — " 

11  Troth,  and  I  can  do  that,  sargin'.  You  say  Mr. 
Graham's  your  uncle,  an'  of  coorse  you  have  often  been  in 
the  barn  yourself.  Very  well,  sir,  don't  you  know  that 
there's  a  prop  on  one  side  to  keep  up  one  of  the  cupples 
that  gave  way  one  stormy  night,  and  there's  a  round  hole  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  door  to  let  the  cats  in  to  settle  ac- 
counts wid  the  mice  and  rats." 

11  Come,  come,  boys,  it's  all  right.  He  has  described 
the  barn  to  a  hair.  That  will  do,  my  Papish  old  cock. 
Come,  I  say,  as  every  man  must  have  a  religion,  and  since 
the  Papishes  won't  have  ours,  why  the  devil  shouldn't  they 
have  one  of  their  own  ?' ' 

*'  That's  dangerous  talk,"  said  Steen,  "  to  proceed  from 


io3  WILLY  RELLLY. 

your  lips,  sergeant.  It  smells  of  treason,  I  tell  you  ;  and  if 
you  had  spoken  these  words  in  the  days  of  the  great  and 
good  King  William,  you  might  have  felt  the  consequences." 

"  Treason  and  King  William  be  hanged  !"  replied  the 
sergeant,  who  was  naturally  a  good-natured,  but  out-spoken 
fellow — "  sooner  than  I'd  take  up  a  poor  devil  of  a  beggar 
that  has  enough  to  do  to  make  out  his  bit  and  sup.  Go  on 
about  your  business,  poor  devil  ;  you  shan't  be  molested. 
Go  to  my  uncle's,  where  you'll  get  a  bellyfull,  and  a  com- 
fortable bed  of  straw,  and  a  winnow-cloth  in  the  barn. 
Zounds  ! — it  would  be  a  nice  night's  work  to  go  out  for 
Willy  Reilly  and  to  bring  home  a  beggar  man  in  his 
place." 

This  was  a  narrow  escape  upon  the  part  of  Fergus,  who 
knew  that  if  they  had  made  a  prisoner  of  him,  and  produced 
him  before  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who  was  a  notorious  perse- 
cutor, and  with  whom  the  Red  Rapparee  was  now  located, 
he  would  unquestionably  have  been  hanged  like  a  dog.  The 
officer  of  the  party,  however — to  wit,  the  worthy  sergeant — 
was  one  of  those  men  who  love  a  drop  of  the  native,  and 
whose  heart  besides  it  expands  into  a  sort  of  surly  kindness 
that  has  something  comical  and  not  disagreeable  in  it.  In 
addition  to  this,  he  never  felt  a  confidence  in  his  own  au- 
thority with  half  the  swagger  which  he  did  when  three 
quarters  gone.  Steen  and  he  were  never  friends,  nor  indeed 
was  Steen  ever  a  popular  man  among  his  acquaintances. 
In  matters  of  trade  and  business  he  was  notoriously  dis- 
honest, and  in  the  moral  and  social  relations  of  life,  selfish, 
uncandid,  and  treacherous.  The  sergeant,  on  the  other 
hand,  though  an  outspoken  and  flaming  anti-Papist  in  theory, 
was,  in  point  of  fact,  a  good  friend  to  his  Roman  Catholic 
neighbors,  who  used  to  say  of  him  that  his  bark  was  worse 
than  his  bite. 

When  the  party  had  passed  on,  Fergus  stood  for  a  moment 
uncertain  as  to  where  he  should  direct  his  steps.  He  had 
not  long  to  wait,  however.  Reilly,  who  had  no  thoughts  of 
abandoning  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  military,  without  at 
least  knowing  his  fate,  nor,  we  may  add,  without  a  firm  de- 
termination to  raising  his  tenantry,  and  rescuing  the  gen- 
erous fellow  at  every  risk,  immediatly  sprung  across  the 
ditch  and  joined  him. 

"  Well,   Fergus,"   said  he,  clasping  his  hand,  "  I  heard 


WILLY  REILLY.  109 

every  thing,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  every  nerve  in  my  body 
trembled  whilst  you  were  among  them." 

' '  Why, ' '  said  Fergus,  ' '  I  knew  them  at  once  by  their 
voices,  and  only  that  I  changed  my  own  as  I  did  I  won't 
say  but  they'd  have  nabbed  me." 

11  The  test  of  the  barn  was  frightful  ;  I  thought  you  were 
gone  ;  but  you  must  explain  that." 

"  Ay,  but  before  I  do,"  replied  Fergus,  "  where  are  we  to 
go  ?     Do  you  still  stand  for  widow  Buckley's  ?" 

"  Certainly,  that  woman  may  be  useful  to  me." 

"  Well,  then,  we  may  as  well  jog  on  in  that  direction, 
and  as  we  go  I  will  tell  you." 

"  How  then  did  you  come  to  describe  the  barn — or  rather, 
was  your  description  correct  ?" 

"Ay,  as  Gospel.  You  don't  know  that  by  the  best  of 
luck  and  providence  of  God,  I  was  two  years  and  a  half  an 
inside  laborer  with  Mr.  Graham.  As  is  usual,  all  the  inside 
men-servants  slept,  winther  and  summer,  in  the  barn  ;  and 
that  accounts  for  our  good  fortune  this  night.  Only  for  that 
scoundrel,  Steen,  however,  the  whole  thing  would  not  have 
signified  much  ;  but  he's  a  black  and  deep  villain  that. 
Nobody  likes  him  but  his  brother  scoundrel,  Whitecraft, 
and  he's  a  favorite  with  him,  bekaise  he's  an  active  and  un- 
scrupulous tool  in  his  hands.  Many  a  time,  when  these 
men — military — militia — yeomen,  or  whatever  they  call 
them,  are  sent  out  by  this  same  Sir  Robert,  the  poor  fellows 
don't  wish  to  catch  what  they  call  the  unfortunate  Papishes, 
and  before  they  come  to  the  house  they'll  fire  off  their  guns, 
pretinding  to  be  in  a  big  passion,  but  only  to  give  their  poor 
neighbors  notice  to  escape  as  soon  as  they  can." 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  widow  Buckley's  cabin,  who, 
on  understanding  that  it  was  Reilly  who  sought  admittance, 
lost  not  a  moment  in  opening  the  door  and  letting  them  in. 
There  was  no  candle  lit  when  they  entered,  but  there  was  a 
bright  turf  fire  "  blinkin'  bonnilie"  in  the  fireplace,  from 
which  a  mellow  light  emanated  that  danced  upon  the  few 
plain  plates  that  were  neatly  ranged  upon  her  humble 
dresser,  but  which  fell  still  more  strongly  upon  a  clean  and 
well-swept  hearth,  on  one  side  of  which  was  an  humble  arm- 
chair of  straw,  and  on  the  other  a  grave,  but  placid-looking, 
cat,  purring,  with  half-closed  eyes,  her  usual  song  for  the 
evening. 


no  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

"  Lord  bless  us  !  Mr.  Reilly,  is  this  you  ?  Sure  it's  little 
I  expected  you,  any  way  ;  but  come  when  you  will,  you're 
welcome.  And  who  ought  to  be  welcome  to  the  poor  ould 
widow  if  you  wouldn't  ?" 

11  Take  a  stool  and  sit  down,  honest  man,"  she  said,  ad- 
dressing Fergus  ;  "  and  you,  Mr.  Reilly,  take  my  chair  ;  it's 
the  one  you  sent  me  yourself,  and  if  anybody  is  entitled  to  a 
sate  in  it,  surely  you  are.     I  must  light  a  rush." 

"  No,  Molly,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  would  be  too  heavy  for 
your  frail  chair.  I  will  take  one  of  those  stout  stools,  which 
will  answer  me  better. 

She  then  lit  a  rush-light,  which  she  pressed  against  a  small 
cleft  of  iron  that  was  driven  into  a  wooden  shaft,  about 
three  feet  long,  which  stood  upon  a  bottom  that  resembled 
the  head  of  a  churn-staff.  Such  are  the  lights,  and  such 
the  candlesticks,  that  are  to  be  found  in  the  cabins  and  cot- 
tages of  Ireland. 

"  I  suppose,  Molly,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  are  surprised  at 
a  visit  from  me  just  now  ?" 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Reilly,"  she  replied,  "  that  if  you  came 
in  the  deadest  hours  of  the  night  you'd  be  welcome,  as  I 
said — and  this  poor  man  is  welcome  too — sit  over  to  the 
fire,  poor  man,  and  warm  yourself.  Maybe  you're  hungry  ; 
if  you  are  I'll  get  you  something  to  eat." 

11  Many  thanks  to  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Fergus.  "  I'm 
not  a  taste  hungry,  and  could  ait  nothing  now  ;  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  at  the  same  time." 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  maybe  you'd  like  to  ait  a  bit.  I  can  give 
you  a  farrel  of  bread,  and  a  sup  o'  nice  goat's  milk.  God 
preserve  him  from  evil  that  gave  me  the  same  goats,  and 
that's  your  four  quarthers,  Mr.  Reilly.  But  sure  every  thing 
I  have  either  came  or  comes  from  your  hand  ;  and  if  I  can't 
thank  you,  God  will  do  it  for  me,  and  that's  betther  still." 

"No  more  about  that,  Molly — not  a  word  more.  Your 
long  residence  with  my  poor  mother,  and  you  affection  for 
her  in  all  her  trials  and  troubles,  entitle  you  to  more  than 
that  at  the  hands  of  her  son." 

"Mrs.  Buckley,"  observed  Fergus,  "this  is  a  quiet- 
looking  little  place  you  have  here." 

"  And  it  is  for  that  I  like  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  pace 
here,  and  the  noise  of  the  wicked  world  seldom  reaches  me 
in  it.     My  only  friend  and  companion  here  is  the  Almighty 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  Ill 

— praise  and  glory  be  to  his  name  !" — and  here  she  devoutly- 
crossed  herself — "  barrin',  indeed,  when  the  light-hearted 
girshas  *  come  a  kailyee  \  wid  their  wheels,  to  keep  the  poor 
ould  woman  company,  and  rise  her  ould  heart  by  their  light 
and  merry  songs,  the  cratures." 

"  That  must  be  a  relief  to  you,  Molly,"  observed  Reilly, 
who,  however,  could  with  difficulty  take  any  part  in  this 
little  dialogue. 

"  And  so  indeed  it  is,"  she  replied  ;  "  and,  poor  things, 
sure  if  their  sweethearts  do  come  at  the  dusk  to  help  them 
to  carry  home  their  spinning-wheels,  who  can  be  angry  wid 
them  ?     It's  the  way  of  life,  sure,  and  of  the  world." 

She  then  went  into  another  little  room — for  the  cabin  was 
divided  into  two — in  order  to  find  a  ball  of  woollen  thread, 
her  principal  occupation  being  the  knitting  of  mittens  and 
stockings,  and  while  bustling  about  Fergus  observed  with  a 
smile, 

"  Poor  Molly  !  little  she  thinks  that  it's  the  bachelors, 
rather  than  any  particular  love  for  her  company,  that  brings 
the  thieves  here." 

"  Yes,  but,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  know  it's  the  custom  of 
the  country. ' ' 

"  Mrs.  Buckley,"  asked  Fergus,"  did  the  sogers  ever  pay 
you  a  visit  ?" 

4 '  They  did  once,"  she  replied,  "about  six  months  ago 
or  more." 

"  What  in  the  name  of  wondher,"  he  repeated,  "  could 
bring  them  to  you  ?" 

"  They  were  out  huntin'  a  priest,"  she  replied,  "  that  had 
done  something  contrary  to  the  law." 

"  What  did  they  say,  Mrs.  Buckley,  and  how  did  they 
behave  themselves  ?" 

"  Why,"  she  answered,  "  they  axed  me  if  I  had  seen 
about  the  country  a  tight-looking  fat  little  man,  wid  black 
twinklin'  eyes  and  a  rosy  face,  wid  a  pair  o'  priest's  boots 
upon  him,  greased  wid  hog's  lard  ?  I  said  no,  but  to  the 
revarse.  They  then  sarched  the  cabin,  tossed  the  two  beds 
about — poor  Jemmy's — God  rest  my  boy's  sowl  ! — an'  after- 
wards my  own.     There  was  one  that  seemed  to  hould  au- 

*  Young  girls. 

f  This  means  to  spend  a  portion  of  the  day,  or  a  few  hours  of  the 
night,  in  a  neighbor's  house,  in  agreeable  and  amusing  conversation. 


H2  WILLY  RELLLY. 

thority  over  the  rest,  and  he  axed  who  was  my  landlord  ? 
I  said  I  had  no  landlord.  They  then  said  that  surely  I  must 
pay  rent  to  some  one,  but  I  said  that  I  paid  rent  to  no- 
body ;  that  Mr.  Reilly  here,  God  bless  him,  gave  me  this 
house  and  garden  free." 

'*  And  what  did  they  say  when  you  named  Mr.  Reilly  ?" 

"  Why,  they  said  he  was  a  dacent  Papish,  I  think  they 
called  it  ;  and  that  there  wasn't  sich  another  among  them. 
They  then  lighted  their  pipes,  had  a  smoke,  went  about 
their  business,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  them  from  that  day  to 
this." 

Reilly  felt  that  this  conversation  was  significant,  and  that 
the  widow's  cabin  was  any  thing  but  a  safe  place  of  refuge, 
even  for  a  few  hours.  We  have  already  said  that  he  had  been 
popular  with  all  parties,  which  was  the  fact,  until  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  old  squire  and  his  lovely  daughter.  In 
the  meantime  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and  the  far-famed 
Cooleen  Bawn  had  gone  abroad  over  the  whole  country  ; 
and  the  natural  result  was  that  a  large  majority  among  those 
who  were  anxious  to  exterminate  the  Catholic  Church  by 
the  rigor  of  bigoted  and  inhuman  laws,  looked  upon  the 
fact  of  a  tolerated  Papist  daring  to  love  a  Protestant  heiress, 
and  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  was  considered  such  a  stout 
prop  of  the  Establishment,  as  an  act  that  deserved  death 
itself.  Reilly' s  affection  for  the  Cooleen  Bawn  was  consid- 
ered, therefore,  not  only  daring  but  treasonable.  Those 
men,  then,  he  reflected,  who  had  called  upon  her  while  in 
pursuit  of  the  unfortunate  priest,  had  become  acquainted 
with  the  fact  of  her  dependence  upon  his  bounty  ;  and  he 
took  it  for  granted,  very  naturally  and  very  properly,  as  the 
event  will  show,  that  now,  while  "  on  his  keeping,"  it  would 
not  be  at  all  extraordinary  if  they  occasionally  searched  her 
remote  and  solitary  cabin,  as  a  place  where  he  might  be 
likely  to  conceal  himself.  For  this  night,  however,  he  ex- 
perienced no  apprehension  of  a  visit  from  them,  but  with 
what  correctness  of  calculation  we  shall  soon  see. 

"  Molly,"  said  he,  "  this  poor  man  and  I  must  sit  with 
you  for  a  couple  of  hours,  after  which  we  will  leave  you  to 
your  rest." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Reilly,"  she  replied,  "  from  what  I  heard 
this  day  I  can  make  a  purty  good  guess  at  the  raison  why  you 
are  here  now,   instead  of  bein'    in  your  own   comfortable 


WILLY  REILLY.  113 

house.  You  have  bitther  enemies  ;  but  God — blessed  be  his 
name — is  stronger  than  any  of  them.  However,  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  get  you  and  that  poor  man  something  to 
eat." 

This  kind  offer  they  declined,  and  as  the  short  rush-light 
was  nearly  burned  out,  and  as  she  had  not  another  ready, 
she  got  what  is  called  a  cam  or  grisset,  put  it  on  the  hearth- 
stone, with  a  portion  of  hog's  lard  in  it ;  she  then  placed  the 
lower  end  of  the  tongs  in  the  fire,  until  the  broad  portion  of 
them,  with  which  the  turf  is  gripped,  became  red  hot  ;  she 
then  placed  the  lard  in  the  grisset  between  them,  and 
squeezed  it  until  nothing  remained  but  pure  oil  ;  through 
this  she  slowly  drew  the  peeled  rushes,  which  were  in- 
stantly saturated  with  the  grease,  after  which  she  left  them 
on  a  little  table  to  cool.  Among  the  poorer  classes — small 
farmers  and  others — this  process  is  performed  every  evening 
a  little  before  dusk.  Having  thus  supplied  them  with  these 
lights,  the  pious  widow  left  them  to  their  own  conversation 
and  retired  to  the  little  room  in  order  to  repeat  her  rosary. 
We  also  will  leave  them  to  entertain  themselves  as  best  they 
can,  and  request  our  readers  to  follow  us  to  a  different 
cene. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN     ACCIDENTAL     INCIDENT     FAVORABLE     TO     REILLY,    AND 
A    CURIOUS    CONVERSATION. 

WE  return  to  the  party  from  whom  Fergus  Reilly  had 
so  narrow  an  escape.  As  our  readers  may  expect, 
they  bent  their  steps  to  the  magnificent  residence  of  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft.  That  gentleman  was  alone  in  his 
library,  surrounded  by  an  immense  collection  of  books 
which  he  never  read.  He  had  also  a  fine  collection  of 
paintings,  of  which  he  knew  no  more  than  his  butler,  nor 
perhaps  so  much.  At  once  sensual,  penurious,  and  bigoted, 
he  spent  his  whole  time  in  private  profligacy — for  he  was  a 
hypocrite,  too — in  racking  his  tenantry,  and  exhibiting  him- 
self as  a  champion  for  Protestant  principles.     Whenever  an 


H4  WILLY  REILLY. 

unfortunate  Roman  Catholic,  whether  priest  or  layman,  hap- 
pened to  infringe  a  harsh  and  cruel  law  of  which  probably 
he  had  never  heard,  who  so  active  in  collecting  his  myr- 
midons, in  order  to  uncover,  hunt,  and  run  down  his  luck- 
less victim  ?  And  yet  he  was  not  popular.  No  one, 
whether  of  his  own  class  or  any  other,  liked  a  bone  in  his 
skin.  Nothing  could  infect  him  with  the  genial  and  hospita- 
ble spirit  of  the  country,  whilst  at  the  same  time  no  man 
living  was  so  anxious  to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  others, 
merely  because  it  saved  him  a  meal.  All  that  sustained  his 
character  at  the  melancholy  period  of  which  we  write  was 
what  people  called  the  uncompromising  energy  of  his  prin- 
ciples as  a  sound  and  vigorous  Protestant. 

"  Sink  them  all  together,"  he  exclaimed  upon  this  occa- 
sion, in  a  kind  of  soliloquy — "  Church  and  bishop  and 
parson,  what  are  they  worth  unless  to  make  the  best  use  we 
can  of  them  ?  Here  I  am  prevented  from  going  to  that  girl 
to-night — and  that  barbarous  old  blockhead  of  a  squire, 
who  was  so  near  throwing  me  off  for  a  beggarly  Papist  rebel  ; 
and  doubly,  trebly,  quadruply  cursed  be  that  same  rebel  for 
crossing  my  path  as  he  has  done.  The  cursed  light-headed 
jade  loves  him  too — there's  no  doubt  of  that — but  wait  until 

I  get  him  in  my  clutches,  as  I  certainly  shall,  and,  by , 

his  rebel  carcass  shall  feed  the  crows.  But  what  noise  is 
that  ?  They  have  returned  ;  1  must  go  down  and  learn 
their  success." 

He  was  right.  Our  friend  the  tipsy  sergeant  and  his 
party  were  at  the  hall-door,  which  was  opened  as  he  went 
down,  and  he  ordered  lights  into  the  back  parlor.  In  a  few 
minutes  they  were  ushered  in,  where  they  found  him  seated 
as  magisterially  as  possible  in  a  large  arm-chair. 

"  Well,  Johnston,"  said  he,  assuming  as  much  dignity  as 
he  could,  "  what  has  been  your  success  ?" 

"  A  bad  evening's  sport,  sir  ;  we  bagged  nothing — didn't 
see  a  feather." 

11  Talk  sense,  Johnston,"  said  he  sternly,  "  and  none  of 
this  cant.     Did  you  see  or  hear  any  thing  of  the  rebel  ?' ' 

"  Why,  sir,  we  did  ;  it  would  be  a  devilish  nice  business 
if  a  party  led  and  commanded  by  George  Johnston  should 
go  out  without  hearin'  and  seein'  something." 

11  Well,  but  what  did  you  see  and  hear,  sir  ?" 

"  Why,  we  saw  Reilly's  house,   and  a  very  comfortable 


WILLY  REILLY.  115 

one  it  is  ;  and  we  heard  from  the  servants  that  he  wasn't  at 
home. ' ' 

"  You're  drunk,  Johnston." 

"No,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,  I'm  only  hearty;*  be- 
sides, I  never  discharge  my  duty  half  so  well  as  when  I'm 
drunk  ;  I  feel  no  colors  then." 

11  Johnston,  if  I  ever  know  you  to  get  drunk  on  duty 
again  I  shall  have  you  reduced." 

"  Reduced  !"  replied  Johnston,  "  curse  the  fig  I  core 
whether  you  do  or  not  ;  I'm  actin'  as  a  volunteer,  and  I'll 
resign." 

11  Come,  sir,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  be  quiet  ;  I  will  over- 
look this,  for  you  are  a  very  good  man  if  you  could  keep 
yourself  sober." 

11  I  told  you  before,  Sir  Robert,  that  I'm  a  better  man 
when  I'm  drunk." 

11  Silence,  sir,  or  I  shall  order  you  out  of  the  room." 

11  Please  your  honor,"  observed  Steen,  "  I  have  a  charge 
to  make  against  George  Johnston." 

"A  charge,  Steen — what  is  it?  You  are  a  staunch, 
steady  fellow,  I  know  ;  what  is  this  charge  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  we  met  a  suspicious  character  on  the  old 
bridle  road  beyond  Reilly's,  and  he  refused  to  take  him 
prisoner." 

"  A  poor  half-Papist  beggarman,  sir,"  replied  Johnston, 
"  who  was  on  his  way  to  my  uncle's  to  stop  there  for  the 
night.  Devil  a  scarecrow  in  Europe  would  exchange  clothes 
with  him  without  boot. ' ' 

Steen  then  related  the  circumstances  with  which  our 
readers  are  acquainted,  adding  that  he  suggested  to  Johnston 
the  necessity  of  sending  a  couple  of  men  up  with  him  to  as- 
certain whether  what  he  said  was  true  or  not  ;  but  that  he 
flatly  refused  to  do  so — and  after  some  nonsense  about  a 
barn  he  let  him  off. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,"  said  Johnston,  "  I'll  hunt  a 
priest  or  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  law  with  any  man  livin', 
but  hang  me  if  ever  I'll  hunt  a  harmless  beggarman  lookin' 
for  his  bit." 

At  this  period  of  the  conversation  the  Red  Rapparce,  now 

*  "  Hearty  "  means  when  a  man  is  slightly  affected  by  drink  so  as 
to  feel  his  spirits  elevated. 


n 0  WILLY  R LILLY. 

in    military  uniform,    entered   the  parlor,    accompanied   by 
some  others  of  those  violent  men. 

"  Steen,"  said  the  baronet,  "  what  or  who  do  you  sup- 
pose this  ragged  ruffian  was  ?" 

Either  a  Rapparee,  sir,  or  Reilly  himself." 

11  O'Donnel,"  said  he,  addressing  the  Red  Robber, 
"  what  description  of  disguises  do  these  villains  usually  as- 
sume ?     Do  they  often  go  about  as  beggarmen  ?" 

"  They  may  have  changed  their  hand,  sir,  since  I  became 
a  legal  subject,  but,  before  that,  three  fourths  of  us — of 
them — the  villains,  I  mane — went  about  in  the  shape  of 
beggars." 

"  That's  important,"  exclaimed  the  baronet.  "  Steen, 
take  half  a  dozen  mounted  men — a  cavalry  party  have  ar- 
rived here  a  little  while  ago,  and  are  waiting  further  orders 
— I  thought  if  Reilly  had  been  secured  it  might  have  been 
necessary  for  them  to  escort  him  to  Sligo.  Well,  take  half 
a  dozen  mounted  men,  and,  as  you  very  properly  suggested, 
proceed  with  all  haste  to  farmer  Graham's,  and  see  whether 
this  mendicant  is  there  or  not  ;  if  he  is  there,  take  him  into 
custody  at  all  events,  and  if  he  is  not,  then  it  is  clear  he  is 
a  man  for  whom  we  ought  to  be  on  the  lookout." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  with  them,  your  honor,"  said  the 
Red  Rapparee. 

"  O'Donnel,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  I  have  other  business 
for  you  to-night." 

11  Well,  plaise  your  honor,"  said  O'Donnel,  "  as  they're 
goin'  in  that  direction,  let  them  turn  to  the  left  after  passin' 
the  little  strame  that  crosses  the  road,  I  mane  on  their  way 
home  ;  if  they  look  sharp  they'll  find  a  little  boreeti  that — 
but  indeed  they'll  scarcely  make  it  out  in  the  dark,  for  it's  a 
good  way  back  in  the  fields — I  mane  the  cabin  of  widow 
Buckley.  If  there's  one  house  more  than  another  in  the 
whole  countryside  where  Reilly  is  likely  to  take  shelter  in, 
that's  it.  He  gave  her  that  cabin  and  a  large  garden  free, 
and  besides  allows  her  a  small  yearly  pension.  But  remem- 
ber, you  can't  bring  your  horses  wid  you — you  must  lave 
some  of  the  men  to  take  charge  of  them  in  the  boreen  till  you 
come  back.     I  wish  you'd  let  me  go  with  them,  sir." 

11  I  cannot,  O'Donnel  ;  I  have  other  occupation  for  you 
to-night." 

Three  or  four  of  the  men  declared  that  they  knew  the 


WILLY  REILLY.  117 

cottage  right  well,  and  could  find  it  out  without  much  diffi- 
culty. "  They  had  been  there,"  they  said,  "some  six  or 
eight  months  before  upon  a  priest  chase."  The  matter 
was  so  arranged,  and  the  party  set  out  upon  their  expedi- 
tion. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  these  men  had  their  journey 
for  nothing  ;  but  at  the  same  time  one  fact  resulted  from  it, 
which  was,  that  the  ragged  mendicant  they  had  met  must 
have  been  some  one  well  worth  looking  after.  The  deuce 
of  it  was,  however,  that,  owing  to  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
there  was  not  one  among  them  who  could  have  known  Fer- 
gus the  next  day  if  they  had  met  him.  They  knew,  how- 
ever, that  O'Donnel,  the  Rapparee,  was  a  good  authority 
on  the  subject,  and  the  discovery  of  the  pretended  mendi- 
cant's imposture  was  a  proof  of  it.  On  this  account,  when 
they  had  reached  the  boreai  alluded  to,  on  their  return  from 
Graham's,  they  came  to  the  resolution  of  leaving  their  horses 
in  charge,  as  had  been  suggested  to  them,  and  in  silence, 
and  with  stealthy  steps,  pounced  at  once  into  the  widow's 
cabin.  Before  they  arrived  there,  however,  we  shall  take  the 
liberty  of  preceding  them  for  a  few  minutes,  and  once  more 
transport  our  readers  to  its  bright  but  humble  hearth. 

About  three  hours  or  better  had  elapsed,  and  our  two 
friends  were  still  seated,  maintaining  the  usual  chat  with 
Mrs.  Buckley,  who  had  finished  her  prayers  and  once  more 
rejoined  them. 

11  Fergus,  like  a  good  fellow,"  whispered  Reilly,  "  slip 
out  for  a  minute  or  two  ;  there's  a  circumstance  I  wish  to 
mention  to  Molly — I  assure  you  it's  of  a  very  private  and 
particular  nature  and  only  for  her  own  ear." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  Fergus  ;  "  I  want,  at  all  events,  to 
stretch  my  legs,  and  to  set  what  the  night's  about." 

He  accordingly  left  the  cabin. 

11  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  it  was  not  for  nothing  I 
came  here  to-night.     I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"Your  favor's  granted,  sir,"  she  replied — granted,  Mr. 
Reilly,  even  before  I  hear  it — that  is,  supposin'  always  that 
it's  in  my  power  to  do  it  for  you." 

"It  is  simply  to  carry  a  letter — and  be  certain  that  it 
shall  be  delivered  to  the  proper  person." 

"Well,"  she  replied,  "sure  that's  aisily  done.  And 
where  am  I  to  deliver  it  ?"   she  asked. 


Ii8  WILLY  RRILLY. 

"  That  I  shall  let  you  know  on  some  future  occasion  — 
perhaps  within  the  course  of  a  week  or  so." 

"  Well,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  I'd  go  twenty  miles  to  deliver 
it — and  will  do  so  wid  a  heart  and  a  half." 

"  Well,  Molly,  I  can  tell  you  your  journey  won't  be  so 
far  ;  but  there  is  one  thing  you  are  to  observe — you  must 
never  breathe  it  to  a  human  creature." 

"  I  thought  you  knew  me  better,  Mr.  Reilly." 

11  It  would  be  impossible,  however,  to  be  too  strict  here, 
because  you  don't  know  how  much  depends  upon  it." 

At  this  moment  Fergus  put  in  his  head,  and  said,  "  For 
Christ's  sake,  snuff  out  the  candle,  and  Reilly — fly  ! — There 
are  people  in  the  next  field  ! — quick  ! — quick  !" 

Reilly  snatched  up  his  hat,  and  whispered  to  the  widow, 
' '  Deny  that  you  saw  me,  or  that  there  was  any  one  here  ! — 
Put  out  the  candle  ! — they  might  see  our  figures  darkening 
the  light  as  we  go  out  !" 

Fergus  and  Reilly  immediately  planted  themselves  behind 
a  whitethorn  hedge,  in  a  field  adjoining  the  cabin,  in  order 
to  reconnoitre  the  party,  whoever  they  might  be,  which  they 
could  do  in  safety.  This  act  of  reconnoitering,  however, 
was  performed  by  the  ear,  and  not  at  all  by  the  eye  ;  the 
darkness  of  the  night  rendered  that  impossible.  Of  course 
the  search  in  the  widow's  cabin  was  equally  fruitless. 

"  Now,"  whispered  Reilly,  "  we'll  go  in  a  line  parallel 
with  the  road,  "  but  at  a  safe  distance  from  them,  until 
they  reach  the  cross-roads.  If  they  turn  towards  my  house, 
we  are  forewarned,  but  if  they  turn  towards  Sir  Robert's,  it 
is  likely  that  I  may  have  an  opportunity  of  securing  my  cash 
and  papers." 

On  reaching  the  cross-roads  alluded  to,  the  party,  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  Reilly  and  his  companion,  did  turn  to- 
wards the  residence  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  thus  giving 
the  fugitives  full  assurance  that  nothing  further  was  to  be 
apprehended  from  them  that  night.  The  men  in  fact  felt 
fatigued  and  were  anxious  to  get  to  bed. 

After  approaching  Reilly' s  house  very  cautiously,  and 
with  much  circumspection — not  an  outhouse,  or  other  place 
of  concealment,  having  been  left  unexamined — they  were 
about  to  enter,  when  Reilly,  thinking  that  no  precaution  on 
such  an  occasion  ought  to  be  neglected,  said  : 

"  Fergus,    we  are   so    far  safe  ;    but,    under  all  circum- 


WILLY  REILLY.  119 

stances,  I  think  it  right  and  prudent  that  you  should  keep 
watch  outside.  Mark  me,  I  will  place  Tom  Corrigan — you 
know  him — at  this  window,  and  if  you  happen  to  see  any 
thing  in  the  shape  of  a  human  being,  or  to  hear,  for  in- 
stance, any  noise,  give  the  slightest  possible  tap  upon  the 
glass,  and  that  will  be  sufficient." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  Reilly  entered  the  house  ;  but,  as 
it  happened,  Fergus's  office  proved  a  sinecure  ;  although, 
indeed,  when  we  consider  his  care  and  anxiety,  we  can 
scarcely  say  so.  At  all  events,  Reilly  returned  in  about  half 
an  hour,  bearing  under  his  arm  a  large  dark  portfolio, 
which,  by  the  way,  was  securely  locked. 

"  Is  all  right  ?"  asked  Fergus. 

"All  is  right,"  replied  the  other.  "The  servants  have 
entered  into  an  arrangement  to  sit  up,  two  in  turn  each 
night,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  give  me  instant  admittance 
whenever  I  may  chance  to  come." 

"  But  now  where  are  you  to  place  these  papers  ?"  asked 
his  companion.      "  That's  a  difficulty." 

11  It  is,  I  grant,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  after  what  has  hap- 
pened, I  think  widow  Buckley's  cabin  the  safest  place  for  a 
day  or  two.  Only  that  the  hour  is  so  unseasonable,  I  could 
feel  little  difficulty  in  finding  a  proper  place  of  security  for 
them,  but  as  it  is,  we  must  only  deposit  them  for  the  pres- 
ent with  the  widow." 

The  roads  of  Ireland  at  this  period — if  roads  they  could 
be  called — were  not  only  in  a  most  shameful,  but  dangerous, 
state.  In  summer  they  were  a  foot  deep  with  dust,  and  in 
winter  at  least  eighteen  inches  with  mud.  This,  however, 
was  by  no  means  the  worst  of  it.  They  were  studded,  at 
due  intervals,  with  ruts  so  deep  that  if  a  horse  happened  to 
get  into  one  of  them  he  went  down  to  the  saddle-skirts. 
They  were  treacherous,  too,  and  such  as  no  caution  could 
guard  against  ;  because,  where  the  whole  surface  of  the  road 
was  one  mass  of  mud,  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  these 
horse-traps  at  all.  Then,  in  addition  to  these,  were  deep 
gullies  across  the  roads,  worn  away  by  small  rills,  proceed- 
ing from  rivulets  in  the  adjoining  uplands,  which  were  prin- 
cipally dry,  or  at  least  mere  threads  of  water  in  summer,  but 
in  winter  became  pigmy  torrents  that  tore  up  the  roads 
across  which  they  passed,  leaving  them  in  the  dangerous 
state  we  have  described. 


120  WILLY  REILLY. 

As  Reilly  and  his  companion  had  got  cut  upon  the  road, 
they  were  a  good  deal  surprised,  and  not  a  little  alarmed,  to 
see  a  horse,  without  a  rider,  struggling  to  extricate  himself 
out  of  one  of  the  ruts  in  question. 

"  What  is  this  ?"   said  Fergus.     "  Be  on  your  guard." 

"  The  horse,"  observed  Reilly,  "  is  without  a  rider  ;  see 
what  it  means." 

Fergus  approached  with  all  due  caution,  and  on  examin- 
ing the  place  discovered  a  man  lying  apparently  in  a  state  of 
insensibility. 

"  I  fear,"  said  he,  on  returning  to  Reilly,  "  that  his  rider 
has  been  hurt  ;  he  is  lying  senseless  about  two  or  three 
yards  before  the  horse." 

"  My  God  !"  exclaimed  the  other,  "  perhaps  he  has  been 
killed  ;  let  us  instantly  assist  him.  Hold  this  portfolio 
whilst  I  render  him  whatever  assistance  I  can." 

As  he  spoke  they  heard  a  heavy  groan,  and  on  approach- 
ing found  the  man  sitting,  but  still  unable  to  rise. 

"  You  have  unfortunately  been  thrown,  sir,"  said  Reilly  ; 
11  I  trust  in  God  you  are  not  seriously  hurt." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  but  I  was  stunned, 
and  have  been  insensible  for  some  time  ;  how  long  I  cannot 
say." 

"  Good  gracious,  sir  !"  exclaimed  Reilly,  "  is  this  Mr. 
Brown  ?" 

"  It  is,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  for  heaven's  sake  aid  me  to  my  limbs 
— that  is,  if  I  shall  be  able  to  stand  upon  them." 

Reilly  did  so,  but  found  that  he  could  not  stand  or  walk 
without  assistance.  The  horse,  in  the  meantime,  had  extri- 
cated himself. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  must  allow  me 
to  assist  you  home.  It  is  very  fortunate  that  you  have  not 
many  perches  to  go.  This  poor  man  will  lead  your  horse 
up  to  the  stable." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Reilly,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "  and 
in  requital  for  your  kindness  you  must  take  a  bed  at  my 
house  to-night.  I  am  aware  of  your  position,"  he  added  in 
a  confidential  voice,  "and  that  you  cannot  safely  sleep  in 
your  own  ;  with  me  you  will  be  secure." 

Reilly  thanked  him,  and  said  that  this  kind  offer  was 
most  welcome  and  acceptable,  as,  in  point  of  fact,  he 
scarcely  knew   that  night  where   to  seek   rest  with   safety. 


WILLY  REILLY.  121 

They  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  parsonage — for  Mr. 
Brown  was  no  other  than  the  Protestant  rector  of  the  par- 
ish, a  man  with  whom  Reilly  was  on  the  most  friendly  and 
and  intimate  terms,  and  a  man,  we  may  add,  who  omitted 
no  opportunity  of  extending  shelter,  protection,  and  counte- 
nance to  such  Roman  Catholics  as  fell  under  the  suspicion 
or  operation  of  the  law.  On  this  occasion  he  had  been 
called  very  suddenly  to  the  deathbed  of  a  parishioner,  and 
was  then  on  his  return  home,  after  having  administered  to 
the  dying  man  the  last  consolations  of  religion. 

On  reaching  the  parsonage,  Fergus  handed  the  portfolio 
to  its  owner,  and  withdrew  to  seek  shelter  in  some  of  his 
usual  haunts  for  the  night  ;  but  Mr.  Brown,  aided  by  his 
wrife,  who  sat  up  for  him,  contrived  that  Reilly  should  be 
conducted  to  a  private  room,  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
servants,  who  were  sent  as  soon  as  possible  to  bed.  Before 
Reilly  withdrew,  however,  that  night,  he  requested  Mr. 
Brown  to  take  charge  of  his  money  and  family  papers,  which 
the  latter  did,  assuring  him  that  they  should  be  forthcoming 
whenever  he  thought  proper  to  call  for  them.  Mr.  Brown 
had  not  been  seriously  hurt,  and  was  able  in  a  day  or  two 
to  pay  the  usual  attention  to  the  discharge  of  his  duties. 

Reilly,  having  been  told  where  to  find  his  bedroom,  re- 
tired with  confidence  to  rest.  Yet  we  can  scarcely  term  it 
rest,  after  considering  the  tumultuous  and  disagreeable 
events  of  the  evening.  He  began  to  ponder  upon  the  life  of 
persecution  to  which  Miss  Folliard  must  necessarily  be  ex- 
posed, in  consequence  of  her  father's  impetuous  and  fiery 
temper  ;  and,  indeed,  the  fact  was,  that  he  felt  this  reflec- 
tion infinitely  more  bitter  than  any  that  touched  himself. 
In  these  affectionate  calculations  of  her  domestic  persecution 
he  was  a  good  deal  mistaken,  however.  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  had  now  gained  a  complete  ascendancy  over  the  dispo- 
sition and  passions  of  her  father.  The  latter,  like  many  an- 
other country  squire — especially  of  that  day — when  his 
word  and  will  were  law  to  his  tenants  and  dependants,  was 
a  very  great  man  indeed,  when  dealing  with  them.  He 
could  bluster  and  threaten,  and  even  carry  his  threats  into 
execution  with  a  confident  swagger  that  had  more  of  magis- 
terial pride  and  the  pomp  of  property  in  it,  than  a  sense  of 
either  right  or  justice.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  let  him 
meet  a  man  of  his  own  rank,  who  cared  nothing  about  his 


122  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

authority  as  a  magistrate,  or  his  assumption  as  a  man  of 
large  landed  property,  and  he  was  nothing  but  a  poor  weak- 
minded  tool  in  his  hands.  So  far  our  description  is  cor- 
rect ;  but  when  such  a  knave  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  came 
in  his  way — a  knave  at  once  calculating,  deceitful,  plausible, 
and  cunning — why,  our  worthy  old  squire,  who  thought  him- 
self a  second  Solomon,  might  be  taken  by  the  nose  and  led 
round  the  whole  barony. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  he  had  sapiently  laid  down  his 
plans  to  harass  and  persecute  his  daughter  into  a  marriage 
with  Sir  Robert,  and  would  have  probably  driven  her  from 
under  his  roof,  had  he  not  received  the  programnie  of  his 
conduct  from  Whitecraft.  That  cowardly  caitiff  had  a 
double  motive  in  this.  He  found  that  if  her  father  should 
"  pepper  her  with  persecution,"  as  the  old  fellow  said,  be- 
fore marriage,  its  consequences  might  fall  upon  his  own  un- 
lucky head  afterwards — in  other  words,  that  Helen  would 
most  assuredly  make  him  then  suffer,  to  some  purpose,  for 
all  that  his  pretensions  to  her  hand  had  occasioned  her  to 
undergo  previous  to  their  union  ;  for,  in  truth,  if  there  was 
one  doctrine  which  Whitecraft  detested  more  than  another 
— and  with  good  reason  too — it  was  that  of  Retribution. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Whitecraft  in  the  very  last  conver- 
sation they  had  on  this  subject,  "  you  must  not  persecute 
your  daughter  on  my  account." 

44  Mustn't  I  ?  Why  hang  it,  Sir  Robert,  isn't  persecution 
the  order  of  the  day  ?  If  she  doesn't  marry  you  quietly 
and  willingly,  we'll  turn  her  out,  and  hunt  her  like  a 
priest." 

14  No,  Mr.  Folliard,  violence  will  never  do.  On  the  con- 
trary, you  must  change  your  hand,  and  try  an  opposite 
course.  If  you  wish  to  rivet  her  affections  upon  that 
Jesuitical  traitor  still  more  strongly,  persecute  her  ;  for 
there  is  nothing  in  this  life  that  strengthens  love  so  much  as 
opposition  and  violence.  The  fair  ones  begin  to  look  upon 
themselves  as  martyrs,  and  in  proportion  as  you  are  severe 
and  inexorable,  so  in  proportion  are  they  resolved  to  win 
the  crown  that  is  before  them.  I  would  not  press  your 
daughter  but  that  I  believe  love  to  be  a  thing  that  exists  be- 
fore marriage — never  after.  There's  the  honeymoon,  for 
instance.  Did  ever  mortal  man  or  mortal  woman  hear  or 
dream   of  a  second  honeymoon  ?     No,  sir,  for  Cupid,  like  a 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  123 

large  blue-bottle,  falls  into,  and  is  drowned,  in  the  honey- 
pot." 

"  Confound  me,"  replied  the  squire,  "  if  I  understand  a 
word  you  say.  However,  I  dare  say  it  may  be  very  good 
sense  for  all  that,  for  you  always  had  a  long  noddle.  Go 
on." 

"  My  advice  to  you  then,  sir,  is  this — make  as  few  allu- 
sions to  her  marriage  with  me  as  possible  ;  but,  in  the 
meantime,  you  may  praise  me  a  little,  if  you  wish  ;  but, 
above  all  things,  don't  run  down  Reilly  immediately  after 
paying  either  my  mind  or  person  any  compliment.  Allow  the 
young  lady  to  remain  quiet  for  a  time.  Treat  her  with  your 
usual  kindness  and  affection  ;  for  it  is  possible,  after  all, 
that  she  may  do  more  from  her  tenderness  and  affection  for 
you  than  we  could  expect  from  any  other  motive  ;  at  all 
events,  until  we  shall  succeed  in  hanging  or  transporting 
this  rebellious  scoundrel." 

"  Very  good — so  he  is.  Good  William  !  what  a  son-in- 
law  I  should  have  !     I  who  transported  one  priest  already  !" 

"  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  saying,  until  we  shall  have  succeeded 
in  hanging  or  transporting  him.  The  first  would  be  the 
safest  no  doubt  ;  but  until  we  shall  be  able  to  accomplish 
either  one  or  the  other,  we  have  not  much  to  expect  in  the 
shape  of  compliance  from  your  daughter.  When  the  villain 
is  removed,  however,  hope,  on  her  part,  will  soon  die  out — 
love  will  lose  its  pabulum." 

11  I'ts  what  ?"  asked  the  squire,  staring  at  him  with  a  pair 
of  round  eyes  that  were  full  of  perplexity  and  wonder. 

"  Why,  it  means  food,  or  rather  fodder." 

"Curse  you,  sir,"  replied  the  squire  indignantly  ;  "do 
you  want  to  make  a  beast  of  my  daughter  ?" 

11  But  it's  a  word,  sir,  applied  by  the  poets,  as  the  food  of 
Cupid." 

11  Cupid  !  I  thought  he  was  drowned  in  the  honey-pot,  yet 
he's  up  again,  and  as  brisk  as  ever,  it  appears.  However, 
go  on — let  us  understand  fairly  what  you're  at.  I  think  I 
see  a  glimpse  of  it  ;  and  knowing  your  character  upon  the 
subject  of  persecution  as  I  do,  it's  more,  I  must  say,  than  I 
expected  from  you.     Go  on — 1  bid  you." 

"  I  say,  then,  sir,  that  if  Reilly  were  either  hanged  or  out 
of  the  country,  the  consciousness  of  this  would  soon  alter 
matters  with  Miss  Folliard.     If  you,   then,   sir,   will  enter 


124  WILLY  REILLY. 

into  an  agreement  with  me,  I  shall  undertake  so  to  make  the 
laws  bear  upon  Reilly  as  to  rid  either  the  world  or  the  coun- 
try of  him  ;  and  you  shall  promise  not  to  press  upon  your 
daughter  the  subject  of  her  marriage  with  me  until  then. 
Still,  there  is  one  thing  you  must  do  ;  and  that  is,  to  keep 
her  under  the  strictest  surveillance." 

11  What  the  devil's  that?"  said  the  squire. 

"  It  means,"  returned  his  expected  son-in-law,  "  that  she 
must  be  well  watched,  but  without  feeling  that  she  is  so." 

11  Would  it  not  be  better  to  lock  her  up  at  once  ?"  said 
her  father.      "  That  would  be  making  the  matter  sure." 

11  Not  at  all,"  replied  Whitecraft.  "  So  sure  as  you  lock 
her  up,  so  sure  she  will  break  prison." 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,"  replied  her  father,  "  I  can't  see 
that.  A  strong  lock  and  key  are  certainly  the  best  surety 
for  the  due  appearance  of  any  young  woman  disposed  to 
run  away.  I  think  the  best  way  would  be  to  make  her  feel 
at  once  that  her  father  is  a  magistrate,  and  commit  her  to 
her  own  room  until  called  upon  to  appear. ' ' 

Whitecraft,  whose  object  was  occasionally  to  puzzle  his 
friend,  gave  a  cold  grin,  and  added  : 

11  I  suppose  your  next  step  would  be  to  make  her  put  in 
security.  No — no,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  if  you  will  be  advised  by 
me,  try  the  soothing  system  ;  antiphlogistic  remedies  are 
always  the  best  in  a  case  like  hers." 

"  Anti — what  ?  Curse  me,  if  I  can  understand  every 
tenth  word  you  say.  However,  I  give  you  credit,  White- 
craft ;  for  upon  my  soul  I  didn't  think  you  knew  half  so 
much  as  you  do.  That  last,  however,  is  a  tickler — a  nut 
that  I  can't  crack.  I  wish  I  could  only  get  my  tongue 
about  it,  till  I  send  it  among  the  Grand  Jury,  and  maybe 
there  wouldn't  be  wigs  on  the  green  in  making  it  out." 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  it  would  teach  them  a  little  supereroga- 
tion." 

"A  little  what?  Is  it  love  that  has  made  you  so 
learned,  Whitecraft,  or  so  unintelligible,  which  ?  Why, 
man,  if  your  passion  increases,  in  another  week  there  won't 
be  three  men  out  of  Trinity  College  able  to  understand  you. 
You  will  become  a  perfect  oracle.  But,  in  the  meantime, 
let  us  see  how  the  arrangement  stands.  Impj-imus,  you  are 
to  hang  or  transport  Reilly  ;  and,  until  then,  I  am  not  to 
annoy  my  daughter  with  any  allusions  to  this  marriage  : 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  125 

but,  above  all  things,  not  to  compare  you  and  Reilly  with 
one  another  in  her  presence,  lest  it  might  strengthen  her 
prejudices  against  you." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  did  not  say  so  ;  I 
fear  no  comparison  with  the  fellow." 

"  No  matter,  Sir  Robert,  if  you  did  not  knock  it  down 
you  staggered  it.  Omitting  the  comparison,  however,  I  sup- 
pose that  so  far  I  am  right." 

11  I  think  so,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  conscious,  after  all, 
that  he  had  got  a  touch  of  "  Roland  for  his  Oliver." 

Then  he  proceeded  :  "  I'm  to  watch  her  closely,  only 
she's  not  to  know  it.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Sir  Robert, 
I  know  you  carry  a  long  noddle,  with  more  hard  words  in  it 
than  I  ever  gave  you  credit  for — but  with  regard  to  what 
you  expect  from  me  now — " 

"  I  don't  mean  that  you  should  watch  her  personally 
yourself,  Mr.  Folliard." 

11  I  suppose  you  don't  ;  I  didn't  think  you  did  ;  but  I'll 
tell  you  what — place  the  twelve  labors  of  Hercules  before 
me,  and  I'll  undertake  to  perform  them,  if  you  wish,  but  to 
watch  a  woman,  Sir  Robert — and  that  woman  keen  and 
sharp  upon  the  cause  of  such  vigilance — without  her  know- 
ing it  in  one  half  hour's  time — that  is  a  task  that  never  was, 
can,  or  will  be  accomplished.  In  the  meantime,  we  must 
only  come  as  near  its  accomplishment  as  we  can." 

"  Just  so,  sir  ;  we  can  do  no  more.  Remember,  then, 
that  you  perform  your  part  of  this  arrangement,  and,  with 
the  blessing  of  God,  I  shall  leave  nothing  undone  to  per- 
form mine." 

Thus  closed  this  rather  extraordinary  conversation,  after 
which  Sir  Robert  betook  himself  home,  to  reflect  upon  the 
best  means  of  performing  his  part  of  it,  with  what  quickness 
and  dispatch,  and  with  what  success,  our  readers  already 
know. 

The  old  squire  was  one  of  those  characters  who  never  are 
so  easily  persuaded  as  when  they  do  not  fully  comprehend 
the  argument  used  to  convince  them.  Whenever  the  squire 
found  himself  a  little  at  fault,  or  confounded  by  either  a 
difficult  word  or  a  hard  sentence,  he  always  took  it  for 
granted  that  there  was  something  unusually  profound  and 
clever  in  the  matter  laid  before  him.  Sir  Robert  knew  this, 
and  on   that   account  played  him   off  to  a  certain  extent. 


126  WILLY  RE2LLY. 

He  was  too  cunning,  however,  to  darken  any  part  of  the 
main  argument  so  far  as  to  prevent  its  drift  from  being  fully 
understood,  and  thereby  defeating  his  own  purpose. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

A    CONFLAGRATION — AN    ESCAPE — AND    AN    ADVENTURE. 

WE  have  said  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  anything 
but  a  popular  man — and  we  might  have  added 
that,  unless  among  his  own  clique  of  bigots  and  persecutors, 
he  was  decidedly  unpopular  among  Protestants  in  general. 
In  a  few  days  after  the  events  of  the  night  we  have  de- 
scribed, Reilly,  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Brown's  brother,  an 
able  and  distinguished  lawyer,  gave  up  the  possession  of  his 
immense  farm,  dwelling-house,  and  offices  to  the  landlord. 
In  point  of  fact,  this  man  had  taken  the  farm  for  Reilly 's 
father,  in  his  own  name,  a  step  which  many  of  the  liberal 
and  generous  Protestants  of  that  period  were  in  the  habit 
of  taking,  to  protect  the  property  for  the  Roman  Catholics, 
from  such  rapacious  scoundrels  as  Whitecraft,  and  others 
like  him,  who  had  accumulated  the  greater  portion  of  their 
wealth  and  estates  by  the  blackest  and  most  iniquitous  polit- 
ical profligacy  and  oppression.  For  about  a  month  after  the 
first  night  of  the  unsuccessful  pursuit  after  Reilly,  the  whole 
country  was  overrun  with  military  parties,  and  such  misera- 
ble inefficient  police  as  then  existed.  In  the  meantime, 
Reilly  escaped  every  toil  and  snare  that  had  been  laid  for 
him.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  seeing  that  hitherto  he  had 
set  them  at  defiance,  resolved  to  glut  his  vengeance  on  his 
property,  since  he  could  not  arrest  himself.  A  description 
of  his  person  had  been,  almost  from  the  commencement  of 
the  proceedings,  published  in  the  Huc-and-Cry,  and  he  had 
been  now  outlawed.  As  even  this  failed,  Sir  Robert,  as  we 
said,  came  with  a  numerous  party  of  his  myrmidons,  bring- 
ing along  with  them  a  large  number  of  horses,  carts,  and 
cars.  The  house  at  this  time  was  in  the  possession  only  of 
a  keeper,  a  poor,  feeble  man,  with  a  wife  and  a  numerous 
family  of  small  children,  the  other  servants  having  fled  from 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  127 

the  clanger  in  which  their  connection  with  Reilly  involved 
them.  Sir  Robert,  however,  very  deliberately  brought  up 
his  cars  and  other  vehicles,  and  having  dragged  out  all  the 
most  valuable  part  of  the  furniture,  piled  it  up,  and  had  it 
conveyed  to  his  own  outhouses,  where  it  was  carefully 
stowed.  This  act,  however,  excited  comparatively  little  at- 
tention, for  such  outrages  were  not  un frequently  committed 
by  those  who  had,  or  at  least  who  thought  they  had,  the 
law  in  their  own  hands.  It  was  now  dusk,  and  the  house 
had  been  gutted  of  all  that  had  been  most  valuable  in  it — 
but  the  most  brilliant  part  of  the  performance  was  yet  to 
come.  We  mean  no  contemptible  pun.  The  young  man's 
dwelling-house,  and  office-houses  were  ignited  at  this  mo- 
ment by  this  man's  military  and  other  official  minions,  and 
in  about  twenty  minutes  they  were  all  wrapped  in  one  red, 
merciless  mass  of  flame.  The  country  people,  on  observing 
this  fearful  conflagration,  flocked  from  all  quarters  ;  but  a 
cordon  of  outposts  was  stationed  at  some  distance  around 
the  premises,  to  prevent  the  peasantry  from  marking  the 
chief  actors  in  this  nefarious  outrage.  Two  gentlemen, 
however,  approached,  who,  having  given  their  names,  were 
at  once  admitted  to  the  burning  premises.  These  were  Mr. 
Brown,  the  clergyman,  and  Mr.  Hastings,  the  actual  and 
legal  proprietor  of  all  that  had  been  considered  Reilly's 
property.  Both  of  them  observed  that  Sir  Robert  was  the 
busiest  man  among  them,  and  upon  making  inquiries  from 
the  party,  they  were  informed  that  they  acted  by  his  orders, 
and  that,  moreover,  he  was  himself  the  very  first  individual 
who  had  set  fire  to  the  premises.  The  clergyman  made  his 
way  to  Sir  Robert,  on  whose  villanous  countenance  he 
could  read  a  dark  and  diabolical  triumph. 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, "  said  Mr.  Brown,  "  how  comes 
such  a  wanton  and  unnecessary  waste  of  property  ?  " 

11  Because,  sir,"  replied  that  gentleman,  "  it  is  the  prop- 
erty of  a  Popish  rebel  and  outlaw,  and  is  confiscated  to  the 
State." 

"  But  do  you  possess  authority  for  this  conduct  ? — Arc 
you  the  State  ?" 

"  In  the  spirit  of  our  Protestant  Constitution,  certainly. 
I  am  a  loyal  Protestant  magistrate,  and  a  man  of  rank,  and 
will  hold  myself  accountable  for  what  I  do  and  have  done. 
Come  you,  there,"  he  added,  "  who  have  knocked  down  the 


i-3  WILLY  REILLY. 

pump,  take  some  straw,  light  it  up,  and  put  it  with  pitch- 
forks upon  the  lower  end  of  the  stable  ;  it  has  not  yet  caught 
the  flames." 

This  order  was  accordingly  complied  with,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  scene,  if  one  could  dissociate  the  mind  from  the 
hellish  spirit  which  created  it,  had  something  terribly  sub- 
lime in  it. 

Mr.  Hastings,  the  gentleman  who  accompanied  the  clergy- 
man, the  real  owner  of  the  property,  looked  on  with  appa- 
rent indifference,  but  uttered  not  a  word.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  rather  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  the  thing  than  other- 
wise, and  passed  with  Mr.  Brown  from  place  to  place,  as  if 
to  obtain  the  best  points  for  viewing  the  fire. 

Reilly's  residence  was  a  long,  large,  two-story  house, 
deeply  thatched  ;  the  kitchen,  containing  pantry,  laundry, 
scullery,  and  all  the  usual  appurtenances  connected  with  it, 
was  a  continuation  of  the  larger  house,  but  it  was  a  story 
lower,  and  also  deeply  thatched.  The  out- offices  ran  in  a 
long  line  behind  the  dwelling  house,  so  that  both  ran  paral- 
lel with  each  other,  and  stood  pretty  close  besides,  for  the 
yard  was  a  narrow  one.  In  the  meantime,  the  night,  though 
dry,  was  dark  and  stormy.  The  wind  howled  through  the 
adjoining  trees  like  thunder,  roared  along  the  neighboring 
hills,  and  swept  down  in  savage  whirlwinds  to  the  bottom  of 
the  lowest  valleys.  The  greater  portion  of  the  crowd  who 
were  standing  outside  the  cordon  we  have  spoken  of  fled 
home,  as  the  awful  gusts  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  in 
order  to  prevent  their  own  houses  from  being  stripped  or 
unroofed,  so  that  very  few  remained  to  witness  the  rage 
of  the  conflagration  at  its  full  height.  The  Irish  peasantry 
entertain  a  superstition  that  whenever  a  strong  storm  of 
wind,  without  rain,  arises,  it  has  been  occasioned  by  the 
necromantic  spell  of  some  guilty  sorcerer,  who,  first  having 
sold  himself  to  the  devil,  afterwards  raises  him  for  some 
wicked  purpose  ;  and  nothing  but  the  sacrifice  of  a  black 
dog  or  a  black  cock — the  one  without  a  white  hair,  and 
the  other  without  a  white  feather — can  prevent  him  from 
carrying  away,  body  and  soul,  the  individual  who  called  him 
up,  accompanied  by  such  terrors.  In  fact  the  night,  inde- 
pendently of  the  terrible  accessory  of  the  fire,  was  indescrib- 
ably awful.  Thatch  portions  of  the  ribs  and  roofs  of 
houses  were  whirled  along  through  the   air  ;  and  the  sweep- 


TIIK  CONFLAGRATION. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  1 29 

ing  blast,  in  addition  to  its  own  bowlings,  was  burdened 
with  the  loud  screamings  of  women  and  children,  and  the 
stronger  shoutings  of  men,  as  they  attempted  to  make  each 
other  audible,  amidst  the  roaring  of  the  tempest. 

This  was  terrible  indeed  ;  but  on  such  a  night,  wnat  must 
not  the  conflagration  have  been,  fed  by  such  pabulum — as 
Sir  Robert  himself  would  have  said — as  that  on  which  it 
glutted  its  fiery  and  consuming  appetite.  We  have  said 
that  the  offices  and  dwelling-house  ran  parallel  with  each 
other,  and  such  was  the  fact.  What  appeared  singular,  and 
not  without  the  possibility  of  some  dark  supernatural  causes, 
according  to  the  impressions  of  the  people,  was,  that  the 
wind,  on  the  night  in  question,  started,  as  it  were,  along 
with  the  fire  ;  but  the  truth  is,  it  had  been  gamboling  in  its 
gigantic  play  before  the  fire  commenced  at  all.  In  the 
meantime,  as  we  said,  the  whole  premises  presented  one  fiery 
mass  of  red  and  waving  flames,  that  shot  and  drifted  up, 
from  time  to  time,  towards  the  sky,  with  the  rapidity,  and 
more  than  the  terror,  of  the  aurora  borcalis.  As  the  confla- 
gration proceeded,  the  high  flames  that  arose  from  the  man- 
sion, and  those  that  leaped  up  from  the  offices,  several  times 
met  across  the  yard,  and  mingled,  as  if  to  exult  n  their 
fearful  task  of  destruction,  forming  a  long  and  distinct  arch 
of  flame,  so  exact  and  regular,  that  it  seemed  to  proceed 
from  the  skill  and  effort  of  some  powerful  demon,  who  had 
made  it,  as  it  were,  a  fiery  arbor  for  his  kind.  The  whole 
country  was  visible  to  an  astonishing  distance,  and  over- 
head, the  evening  sky,  into  which  the  uprushing  pyramids 
seemed  to  pass,  looked  as  if  it  had  caught  the  conflagration, 
and  was  one  red  mass  of  glowing  and  burning  copper. 
Around  the  house  and  premises  the  eye  could  distinguish  a 
pin  ;  but  the  strong  light  was  so  fearfully  red  that  the  deep 
tinge  it  communicated  to  the  earth  seemed  like  blood,  and 
made  it  appear  as  if  it  had  been  sprinkled  with  it. 

It  is  impossible  to  look  upon  a  large  and  extensive  confla- 
gration without  feeling  the  mind  filled  with  imagery  and 
comparisons,  drawn  from  moral  and  actual  life.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  a  tyrant,  in  the  unrestrained  exercise  of  his 
power — he  now  has  his  enemy  in  his  grip,  and  hear  how  he 
exults  ;  listen  to  the  mirthful  and  crackling  laughter  with 
which  the  fiendish  despot  rejoices,  as  he  gains  the  victory  ; 
mark  the  diabolical  gambols  with  which  he  sports,  and  the 


13°  WILLY  REILLY. 

demon  glee  with  which  he  performs  his  capricious  but  fright- 
ful exultations.  But  the  tyrant,  after  all,  will  become  ex- 
hausted— his  strength  and  power  will  fail  him  ;  he  will  de- 
stroy his  own  subjects  ;  he  will  become  feeble,  and  when  he 
has  nothing  further  on  which  to  exercise  his  power,  he  will, 
like  many  another  tyrant  before  him,  sink,  and  be  lost  in 
the  ruin  he  has  made. 

Again  :  Would  you  behold  Industry  ?  Here  have  its  ter- 
ible  spirits  been  appointed  their  tasks.  Observe  the  energy, 
the  activity,  the  persevering  fury  with  which  they  discharge 
their  separate  duties.  See  how  that  eldest  son  of  Apollyon, 
with  the  appetite  of  hell,  licks  into  his  burning  maw  every 
thing  that  comes  in  contact  with  his  tongue  of  fire.  What 
quickness  of  execution,  and  how  rapidly  they  pass  from 
place  to  place  !  how  they  run  about  in  quest  of  employ- 
ment !  how  diligently  and  effectually  they  search  every  nook 
and  corner,  lest  any  thing  might  escape  them  !  Mark  the 
activity  with  which  that  strong  fellow  leaps  across,  from 
beam  to  beam,  seizing  upon  each  as  he  goes.  A  different 
task  has  been  assigned  to  another  :  he  attacks  the  rafters  of 
the  roof — he  fails  at  first,  but,  like  the  constrictor,  he  first 
licks  over  his  victim  before  he  destroys  it — bravo  ! — he  is  at 
it  again — it  gives  wray — he  is  upon  it,  and  about  it  ;  and 
now  his  difficulties  are  over — the  red  wood  glows,  splits  and 
crackles,  and  flies  off  in  angry  flakes,  in  order  to  become  a 
minister  to  its  active  and  devouring  master.  See  !  observe  ! 
What  business — what  a  coil  and  turmoil  of  industry  ! 
Every  flame  at  work — no  idle  hand  here — no  lazy  lounger 
reposing.  No,  no — the  industry  of  a  hive  of  bees  is  noth- 
ing to  this.  Running  up — running  down — running  in  all 
directions  :  now  they  unite  together  to  accomplish  some 
general  task,  and  again  disperse  themselves  to  perform  their 
individual  appointments. 

Eut  hark  !  what  comes  here  ?  Room  for  another  ele- 
ment. 'Tis  the  wind-storm,  that  comes  to  partake  in  the 
triumph  of  the  victory  which  his  ministers  have  assisted  to 
gain.  But  lo  !  here  he  comes  in  person  ;  and  now  they 
unite — or  how  ? — Do  they  oppose  each  other  ?  Here  does 
the  wind-storm  drive  back  the  god  of  fire  from  his  victim  ; 
again  the  fiery  god  attempts  to  reach  it  ;  and  again  he  feels 
that  he  has  met  more  than  his  match.  Once,  twice,  thrice 
he  has  failed  in  getting  at  it.     But  is  this  conflict  real — this 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  131 

fierce  battle  between  the  elements  ?  Alas,  no  ;  they  are 
both  tyrants,  and  what  is  to  be  expected  ? 

The  wind  god,  always  unsteady,  wheels  round,  comes  to 
the  assistance  of  his  opponent,  and  gives  him  new  courage, 
new  vigor,  and  new  strength.  But  his  inferior  ministers 
must  have  a  share  of  this  dreadful  repast.  Off  go  a  thou- 
sand masses  of  burning  material,  whirling  along.  Off  go 
the  glowing  timbers  and  rafters,  on  the  wind,  by  which  they 
are  borne  in  thousands  of  red  meteors  across  the  sky.  But 
hark,  again  !  Room  for  the  whirlwind  !  Here  it  comes, 
and  addresses  itself  to  yon  tall  and  waving  pyramid  ;  they 
embrace  ;  the  pyramid  is  twisted  into  the  figure  of  a  gigantic 
corkscrew — round  they  go,  rapid  as  thought  ;  the  thunder 
of  the  wind  supplies  them  with  the  appropriate  music,  and 
continues  until  this  terrible  and  gigantic  waltz  of  the  ele- 
ments is  concluded.  But  now  these  fearful  ravagers  are 
satisfied,  because  they  have  nothing  more  on  which  they  can 
glut  themselves.  They  appear,  however,  to  be  seated.  The 
wind  has  become  low,  and  is  only  able  to  work  up  a  feeble 
effort  at  its  former  strength.  The  flames,  too,  are  subsiding 
— their  power  is  gone  ;  occasional  jets  of  fire  come  forth, 
but  they  instantly  disappear.  By  degrees,  and  one  after 
auother,  they  vanish.  Nothing  now  is  visible  but  smoke, 
and  every  thing  is  considered  as  over — when  lo  !  like  a 
great  general,  who  has  achieved  a  triumphant  victory,  it  is 
deemed  right  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  position  of  the  ene- 
my. Up,  therefore,  starts  an  unexpected  burst  of  flame — 
blazes  for  a  while  ;  looks  about  it,  as  it  were  ;  sees  that  the 
victory  is  complete,  and  drops  down  into  the  darkness  from 
which  it  came.  The  conflagration  is  over  ;  the  wind-storm 
is  also  appeased.  Small  hollow  gusts,  amongst  the  trees 
and  elsewhere,  are  now  all  that  are  heard.  By  degrees, 
even  these  cease  ;  and  the  wind  is  now  such  as  it  was  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  when  the  elements  were  compara- 
tively quiet  and  still. 

Mr.  Brown  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Hastings,  having  waited 
until  they  saw  the  last  rafter  of  unfortunate  Reilly's  house 
and  premises  sink  into  a  black  mass  of  smoking  ruins, 
turned  their  steps  to  the  parsonage,  which  they  had  no 
sooner  entered  than  they  went  immediately  to  Reilly's  room, 
who  was  still  there  under  concealment.     Mr.  Brown,  how- 


132  WILLY  RELLLY. 

ever,  went  out  again  and  returned  with  some  wine,  which  he 
placed  upon  the  table. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Reilly,  "this  has  become  an  awful 
night  ;  the  wind  has  been  tremendous,  and  has  done  a 
good  deal  of  damage,  I  fear,  to  your  house  and  premises, 
Mr.  Brown.  I  heard  the  slates  falling  about  in  great  num- 
bers ;  and  the  inmates  of  the  house  were,  as  far  as  I  could 
judge,  exceedingly  alarmed." 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  night  in  more  senses  than  one," 
replied  Mr.  Brown. 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Reilly,  "was  there  not  afire  some- 
where in  the  neighborhood  ?  I  observed  through  the  win- 
dows a  strong  light  flickering  and  vibrating,  as  it  were,  over 
the  whole  country.     What  must  it  have  been  ?" 

"  My  dear  Reilly,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  "  be  calm  ;  your 
house  and  premises  are,  at  this  moment,  one  dark  heap  of 
smouldering  ruins." 

"  Oh,  yes — I  understand,"  replied  Reilly — "  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraf  t. ' ' 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  replied  Mr.  Brown  ;  it  is  too 
true,  Reilly — you  are  now  houseless  and  homeless  ;  and 
may  God  forgive  him  !" 

Reilly  got  up  and  paced  the  room  several  times,  then  sat 
down,  and  filling  himself  a  glass  of  wine,  drank  it  off  ; 
then  looking  at  each  of  them,  said,  in  a  voice  rendered 
hoarse  by  the  indignation  and  resentment  which  he  felt 
himself  compelled,  out  of  respect  for  his  kind  friends,  to 
restrain,  "Gentlemen,"  he  repeated,  "what  do  you  call 
this?" 

"  Malice — persecution — vengeance,"  replied  Mr.  Brown, 
whose  resentment  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of  Reilly  him- 
self. "  In  the  presence  of  God,  and  before  all  the  world,  I 
would  pronounce  it  one  of  the  most  diabolical  acts  ever 
committed  in  the  history  of  civil  society.  But  you  have  one 
consolation,  Reilly  ;  your  money  and  papers  are  safe." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  I  think  not  of  them. 
It  is  the  vindictive  and  persecuting  spirit  of  that  man — that 
monster — and  the  personal  motives  from  which  he  acts,  that 
torture  me,  and  that  plant  in  my  heart  a  principle  of  ven- 
geance more  fearful  than  his.  But  you  do  not  understand 
me,  gentlemen  ;  I  could  smile  at  all  he  has  done  to  myself 
yet.     It  is  of  the  serpent-tooth  which  will  destroy  the  peace 


WILLY  REILLY.  133 

of  others,  that  I  think.  All  these  motives  being  considered, 
what  do  you  think  that  man  deserves  at  my  hand  ?" 

"My  dear  Reilly,"  said  the  clergyman,  "recollect  that 
there  is  a  Providence  ;  and  that  we  cannot  assume  to  our- 
selves the  disposition  of  His  judgments,  or  the  knowledge  of 
His  wisdom.  Have  patience.  Your  situation  is  one  of 
great  distress  and  almost  unexampled  difficulty.  At  all 
events,  you  are,  for  the  present,  safe  under  this  roof  ;  and 
although  I  grant  you  have  much  to  suffer,  still  you  have  a 
free  conscience,  and,  I  dare  say,  would  not  exchange  your 
position  for  that  of  your  persecutor." 

"  No,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  most  assuredly  not — most  assuredly 
not  ;  no,  not  for  worlds.  Yet  is  it  not  strange,  gentlemen, 
that  that  man  will  sleep  sound  and  happily  to-night,  whilst  I 
will  lie  upon  a  bed  of  thorns  ?" 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Brown  tapped  gently  at  the  door, 
which  was  cautiously  opened  by  her  husband. 

"  John,"  said  she,  "  here  is  a  note  which  I  was  desired 
to  give  to  you  without  a  moment's  delay." 

"  Thank  you,  my  love  ;  I  will  read  it  instantly." 

He  then  bolted  the  door,  and  coming  to  the  table  took  up 
one  of  the  candles  and  read  the  letter,  which  he  handed  to 
Mr.  Hastings.  Now  we  have  already  stated  that  this  gen- 
tleman, whilst  looking  on  at  the  destruction  of  Reilly's 
property,  never  once  opened  his  lips.  Neither  did  he,  from 
the  moment  they  entered  Reilly's  room.  He  sat  like  a 
dumb  man,  occasionally  helping  himself  to  a  glass  of  wine. 
After  having  perused  the  note  he  merely  nodded,  but  said 
not  a  word  ;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  the  faculty  of  speech. 
At  length  Mr.  Brown  spoke  : 

11  This  is  really  too  bad,  my  dear  Reilly  ;  here  is  a  note 
signed  '  H.  F.,'  which  informs  me  that  your  residence,  con- 
cealment, or  whatever  it  is,  has  been  discovered  by  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft,  and  that  the  military  are  on  their  way 
here  to  arrest  you  ;  you  must  instantly  fly." 

Hastings  then  got  up,  and  taking  Reilly's  hand,  said  : 

11  Yes,  Reilly,  you  must  escape — disguise  yourself — take 
all  shapes — since  you  will  not  leave  the  country  ;  but  there 
is  one  fact  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you  :  meddle  not  with 
— injure    not — Sir    Robert    Whitecraft.     Leave    him    to 

ME." 

"  Go  out  by  the  back  way,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "  and  fly 


131-  WILLY  RELLLY. 

into  the  fields,  lest  they  should  surround  the  house  and  ren- 
der escape  impossible.  God  bless  you  and  preserve  you 
from  the  violence  of  your  enemies  !" 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  what  subsequently  occurred. 
Mr.  Brown's  premises,  as  he  had  anticipated,  were  com- 
pletely surrounded  ere  the  party  in  search  of  Reilly  had  de- 
manded admittance.  The  whole  house  was  searched  from 
top  to  bottom,  but,  as  usual,  without  success.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  himself  was  not  with  them,  but  the  party  were  all 
but  intoxicated,  and,  were  it  not  for  the  calm  and  unshrink- 
ing firmness  of  Mr.  Brown,  would  have  been  guilty  of  a 
very  offensive  degree  of  insolence. 

Reilly,  in  the  meantime,  did  not  pass  far  from  the  house. 
On  the  contrary,  he  resolved  to  watch  from  a  safe  place  the 
motions  of  those  who  were  in  pursuit  of  him.  In  order  to 
do  this  more  securely,  he  mounted  into  the  branches  of  a 
magnificent  oak  tree  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  field  ad- 
joining a  kind  of  back  lawn  that  stretched  from  the  walled 
garden  of  the  parsonage.  The  fact  is,  that  the  clergyman's 
house  had  two  hall-doors — one  in  front,  and  the  other  in  the 
rear — and  as  the  rooms  commanded  a  view  of  the  scenery 
behind  the  house,  which  was  much  finer  than  that  in  front, 
on  this  account  the  back  hall-door  was  necessary,  as  it  gave 
them  a  free  and  easy  egress  to  the  lawn  we  have  mentioned, 
from  which  a  magnificent  prospect  was  visible. 

It  was  obvious  that  the  party,  though  unsuccessful,  had 
been  very  accurately  informed.  Finding,  however,  that  the 
bird  had  flown,  several  of  them  galloped  across  the  lawn — 
it  was  a  cavalry  party,  having  been  sent  out  for  speed — and 
passed  into  the  field  where  the  tree  grew  in  which  Reilly  was 
concealed.  After  a  useless  search,  however,  they  returned, 
and  pulled  up  their  horses  under  the  oak. 

"Well,"  said  one  of  them,  "it's  a  clear  case  that  the 
scoundrel  can  make  himself  invisible.  We  have  orders  from 
Sir  Robert  to  shoot  him,  and  to  put  the  matter  upon  the 
principle  of  resistance  against  the  law,  on  his  side.  Sir 
Robert  has  been  most  credibly  informed  that  that  disloyal 
parson  has  concealed  him  in  his  house  for  nearly  the  last 
month.  Now  who  could  ever  think  of  looking  for  a  Popish 
rebel  in  the  house  of  a  Protestant  parson  ?  What  the  deuce 
is  keeping  those  fellows  ?  I  hope  they  won't  go  too  far  into 
the  country." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  13*5 

"  Any  man  that  says  Mr.  Brown  is  a  disloyal  parson  is  a 
liar,"  said  one  of  them  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  And  I  say,"  said  another,  with  a  hiccough,  "  that,  hang 
me,  but  I  think  this  same  Reilly  is  as  loyal  a  man  as  e'er  a 
one  amongst  us.  My  name  is  George  Johnston,  and  I'm 
not  ashamed  of  it  ;  and  the  truth  is,  that  only  Miss  Folliard 
fell  in  love  with  Reilly,  and  refused  to  marry  Sir  Robert, 
Reilly  would  have  been  a  loyal  man  still,  and  no  ill-will 

against  him.     But,  by ,  it  was  too  bad  to  burn  his  house 

and  place — and  see  whether  Sir  Robert  will  come  off  the 
better  of  it.  I  myself  am  a  good  Protestant — show  me  the 
man  that  will  deny  that,  and  I'll  become  his  schoolmaster 
only  for  five  minutes.  I  do  say,  and  I'll  tell  it  to  Sir  Rob- 
ert's face,  that  there's  something  wrong  somewhere.  Give 
me  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  law,  let  him  be  priest  or  lay- 
man, and  I'm  the  boy  that  will  take  a  grip  of  him  if  I  can 
get  him.  But,  confound  me,  if  I  like  to  be  sent  out  to  hunt 
innocent,  inoffensive  Papishes,  who  commit  no  crime  ex- 
cept that  of  having  property  that  chaps  like  Sir  Robert  have 
their  eye  on.  Now  suppose  the  Papishes  had  the  upper 
hand,  and  that  they  treated  us  so,  what  would  you  say  ?" 

"  All  I  can  say  is,"  replied  another  of  them,  "  that  I'd 
wish  to  get  the  reward." 

"  Curse  the  reward,"  said  Johnston,  "  I  like  fair  play." 

11  But  how  did  Sir  Robert  come  to  know  ?"  asked  another, 
"  that  Reilly  was  with  the  parson  ?" 

"  Who  the  deuce  here  can  tell  that  ?"  replied  several. 

"  The  thing  was  a  hoax,"  said  Johnston,  "  and  a  cursed 
uncomfortable  one  for  us.  But  here  come  these  fellows, 
just  as  they  went,  it  seems.  Well,  boys,  no  trail  of  this 
cunning  fox  ?" 

"Trail!"  exclaimed  the  others.  "Gad,  you  might  as 
well  hunt  for  your  grandmother's  needle  in  a  bottle  of 
straw.  The  truth  is,  the  man's  not  in  the  country,  and 
whoever  gave  the  information  as  to  the  parson  keeping  him 
was  some  enemy  of  the  parson's  more  than  of  Reilly's,  I'll 
go  bail.  Come,  now,  let  us  go  back,  and  give  an  account 
of  our  luck,  and  then  to  our  barracks." 

Now  at  this  period  it  was  usual  for  men  who  were  promi- 
nent for  rank  and  loyalty,  and  whose  attachment  to  the 
Constitution  and  Government  was  indicated  by  such  acts 
and  principles  as  those  which  we  have  hitherto  read  in  the 


136  WILLY  REILLY. 

life  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — we  say,  it  was  usual  for  such 
as  him  to  be  allowed  a  small  detachment  of  military,  whose 
numbers  were  mostly  rated,  according  to  the  services  re- 
quired of  them,  by  the  zeal  and  activity  of  their  employer, 
as  well  as  for  his  protection  ;  and,  in  order  to  their  accom- 
modation, some  uninhabited  house  in  the  neighborhood 
was  converted  into  a  barrack  for  the  purpose.  Such 
was  the  case  in  the  instance  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
who,  independently  of  his  zeal  for  the  public  good,  was 
supposed  to  have  an  eye  in  this  disposition  of  things, 
to  his  own  personal  safety.  He,  consequently,  had  his 
little  barrack  so  closely  adjoining  his  house  that  a  notice 
of  five  minutes  could  at  any  time  have  its  inmates  at  his 
premises,  or  in  his  presence. 

After  these  men  went  away,  Reilly,  having  waited  a  few 
minutes,  until  he  was  satisfied  that  they  had  actually,  one 
and  all  of  them,  disappeared,  came  down  from  the  tree,  and 
once  more  betook  himself  to  the  road.  Whither  to  go  he 
knew  not.  In  consequence  of  having  received  his  education 
abroad,  his  personal  knowledge  of  the  inhabitants  belonging 
to  the  neighborhood  was  very  limited.  Go  somewhere, 
however,  he  must.  Accordingly,  he  resolved  to  advance,  at 
all  events,  as  far  as  he  might  be  able  to  travel  before  bed- 
time, and  then  resign  himself  to  chance  for  a  night's  shel- 
ter. One  might  imagine,  indeed,  that  his  position  as  a 
wealthy  Roman  Catholic  gentleman,  suffering  persecution 
from  the  tool  and  scourge  of  a  hostile  government,  might 
have  calculated  upon  shelter  and  secrecy  from  those  belong- 
ing to  his  own  creed.  And  so,  indeed,  in  nineteen  cases 
out  of  twenty  he  might  ;  but  in  what  predicament  should 
he  find  himself  if  the  twentieth  proved  treacherous  ?  And 
against  this  he  had  no  guarantee.  That  age  was  peculiarly 
marked  by  the  foulest  personal  perfidy,  precipitated  into 
action  by  rapacity,  ingratitude,  and  the  blackest  ambition. 
The  son  of  a  Roman  Catholic  gentleman,  for  instance,  had 
nothing  more  to  do  than  change  his  creed,  attach  himself  to 
the  government,  become  a  spy  and  informer  on  his  family, 
and  he  ousted  his  own  father  at  once  out  of  his  hereditary 
property — an  ungrateful  and  heinous  proceeding,  that  was 
too  common  in  the  time  of  which  we  write.  Then,  as  to  the 
people  themselves,  they  were,  in  general,  steeped  in  poverty 
and  ignorance,  and  this  is  certainly  not    surprising  when  we 


WILLY  REILLY.  137 

consider  that  no  man  durst  educate  them.  The  govern- 
ment rewards,  therefore,  assailed  them  with  a  double  temp- 
tation. In  the  first,  the  amount  of  it — taking  their  poverty 
into  consideration — was  calculated  to  grapple  with  and  over- 
come their  scruples  ;  and  in  the  next,  they  were  certain  by 
their  treachery  to  secure  the  protection  of  government  for 
themselves. 

Such,  exactly,  was  the  state  of  the  country  on  the  night 
when  Reilly  found  himself  a  solitary  traveller  on  the  road, 
ignorant  of  his  destiny,  and  uncertain  where  or  in  what 
quarter  he  might  seek  shelter  until  morning. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  overtook  another  traveller, 
with  whom  he  entered  into  conversation. 

11  God  save  you,  my  friend." 

"  God  save  you  kindly,  sir,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  was  not 
this  an  awful  night  ?" 

11  If  you  may  say  so,"  returned  Reilly  unconsciously, 
and  for  the  moment  forgetting  himself,  "  well  may  I,  my 
friend." 

Indeed  it  is  probable  that  Reilly  was  thrown  somewhat  off 
his  guard  by  the  accent  of  his  companion,  from  which  he  at 
once  inferred  that  he  was  a  Catholic. 

"Why,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "how  could  it  be  more 
awful  to  you  than  to  any  other  man  ?' ' 

"  Suppose  my  house  was  blown  down,"  said  Reilly,  "  and 
that  yours  was  not,  would  not  that  be  cause  sufficient  ?" 

"  My  house!"  exclaimed  the  man  with  a  deep  sigh; 
"  but  sure  you  ought  to  know,  sir,  that  it's  not  every  man 
has  a  house." 

11  And  perhaps  I  do  know  it." 

"Wasn't  that  a  terrible  act,  sir — the  burning  of  Mr. 
Reilly's  house  and  place  ?" 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Reilly  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"  A  Catholic  gintleman,  sir,  that  the  soldiers  are  afther," 
replied  the  man. 

11  And  perhaps  it  is  right  that  they  should  be  after  him. 
What  did  he  do  ?  The  Catholics  are  too  much  in  the  habit 
of  violating  the  law,  especially  their  priests,  who  persist  in 
marrying  Protestants  and  Papists  together,  although  they 
know  it  is  a  hanging  matter.  If  they  deliberately  put  their 
necks  into  the  noose,  who  can  pity  them  ?" 

"It  seems   they  do,  then,"  replied  the  man  in  a  subdued 


I3#  WILLY  REILLY. 

voice  ;  "  and  what  is  still  more  strange,  it  very  often  happens 
that  persons  of  their  own  creed  are  somewhat  too  ready  to 
come  down  wid  a  harsh  word  upon  'em." 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  responded  Reilly,  "  let  them  not  de- 
serve it  ;  let  them  obey  the  law." 

'•  And  are  you  of  opinion,  sir,"  asked  the  man  with  a  sig- 
nificant emphasis  upon  the  personal  pronoun  which  we  have 
put  in  italics  ;  "  are  you  of  opinion,  sir,  that  obedience  to 
the  law  is  always  a  security  to  either  perso?i  o?'  property  ?" 

The  direct  force  of  the  question  could  not  be  easily  parried, 
at  least  by  Reilly,  to  whose  circumstances  it  applied  so  power- 
fully, and  he  consequently  paused  for  a  little  to  shape  his 
thoughts  into  the  language  he  wished  to  adopt  ;  the  man, 
however,  proceeded  : 

"  I  wonder  what  Mr.  Reilly  would  say  if  such  a  question 
was  put  to  him  ?" 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  Reilly,  "  he  would  say  much  as  I 
say — that  neither  innocence  nor  obedience  is  always  a  secu- 
rity under  any  law  or  any  constitution  either." 

His  companion  made  no  reply,  and  they  walked  on  for 
some  time  in  silence.  Such  indeed  was  the  precarious 
state  of  the  country  then  that,  although  the  stranger,  from 
the  opening  words  of  their  conversation,  suspected  his  com- 
panion to  be  no  other  than  Willy  Reilly  himself,  yet  he 
hesitated  to  avow  the  suspicions  he  entertained  of  his  iden- 
tity, although  he  felt  anxious  to  repose  the  fullest  confidence 
in  him  ;  and  Reilly,  on  the  other  hand,  though  perfectly 
aware  of  the  true  character  of  his  companion,  was  influenced 
in  their  conversation  by  a  similar  feeling.  Distrust  it  could 
not  be  termed  on  either  side,  but  simply  the  operation  of 
that  general  caution  which  was  generated  by  the  state  of  the 
times,  when  it  was  extremely  difficult  to  know  the  individual 
on  whom  you  could  place  dependence.  Reilly' s  generous 
nature,  however,  could  bear  this  miserable  manoeuvring  no 
longer. 

"Come,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "we  have  been  beating 
about  the  bush  with  each  other  to  no  purpose  ;  although  I 
know  not  your  name,  yet  I  think  I  do  your  profession." 

"  And  I  would  hold  a  wager,"  replied  the  other,  "  that 
Mr.  Reilly,  whose  house  was  burned  down  by  a  villain  this 
night,  is  not  a  thousand  miles  from  me." 

"  And  suppose  you  are  right  ?" 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  139 

"  Then,  upon  my  veracity,  you're  safe,  if  I  am.  It  would 
ill  become  my  cloth  and  character  to  act  dishonorably  or 
contrary  to  the  spirit  of  my  religion. 

1  Non  ignara  mali  miseris  succurrere  disco.' 

You  see,  Mr.  Reilly,  I  couldn't  make  use  of  any  other  gen- 
der but  the  feminine  without  violating  prosody  ;  for 
although  I'm  not  so  sharp  at  my  Latin  as  I  was,  still  I 
couldn't  use  ignanw,  as  you  see,  without  fairly  committing 
myself  as  a  scholar  ;  and  indeed,  if  I  went  to  that,  it  would 
surely  be  the  first  time  I  have  been  mistaken  for  a  dunce." 

The  honest  priest,  now  that  the  ice  was  broken,  and  con- 
scious that  he  was  in  safe  hands,  fell  at  once  into  his  easy 
and  natural  manner,  and  rattled  away  very  much  to  the 
amusement  of  his  companion.  "  Ah  !"  he  proceeded, 
11  many  a  character  I  have  been  forced  to  assume." 

"  How  is  that  ?"  inquired  Reilly.  "  How  did  it  happen 
that  you  were  forced  into  such  a  variety  of  characters  ?" 

' '  Why,  you  see,  Mr.  Reilly — troth  and  maybe  I  had  bet- 
ter not  be  naming  you  aloud  ;  walls  have  ears,  and  so  may 
hedges.  How,  you  ask  ?  Why,  you  see,  I'm  not  regis- 
tered, and  consequently  have  no  permission  from  govern- 
ment to  exercise  my  functions." 

"Why,"  said  Reilly,  "you  labor  under  a  mistake,  my 
friend  ;  the  bill  for  registering  Catholic  priests  did  not  pass  ; 
it  was  lost  by  a  majority  of  two.  So  far  make  your  mind 
easy.  The  consequence  is,  that  if  you  labor  under  no  eccle- 
siastical censure  you  may  exercise  all  the  functions  of  your 
office — that  is,  as  well  as  you  can,  and  as  far  as  you  dare." 

"  Well,  that  same's  a  comfort,"  said  the  priest  ;  "  but  the 
report  was,  and  is,  that  we  are  to  be  registered.  However, 
be  that  as  it  may,  I  have  been  a  perfect  Proteus.  The  met- 
amorphoses of  Ovid  were  nothing  to  mine.  I  have  repre- 
sented every  character  in  society  at  large  ;  to-day  I've  been 
a  farmer,  and  to-morrow  a  poor  man,'"  sometimes  a  fool — a 
rare  character,  you  know,  in  this  world — and  sometimes  a 
fiddler,  for  I  play  a  little." 

"  And  which  character  did  you  prefer  among  them  all  ?" 
asked  Reilly,  with  a  smile  which  he  could  not  repress. 

"  Oh,    in  troth,   you  needn't  ask  that,    Mr.    R — hem — 

*  A  mendicant. 


1-J.o  WILLY  REILLY. 

you  needn't  ask  that.  The  first  morning  I  took  to  the 
fiddle  I  was  about  to  give  myself  up  to  government  at  once. 
As  for  my  part,  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  I  sent  those 
that  were  unlucky  enough  to  hear  my  music  scampering 
across  the  country." 

'!  And,  pray,  how  long  is  that  since  ?" 

11  Why,  something  better  than  three  weeks,  the  Lord  pity 
me  !" 

"  And  what  description  of  dress  did  you  wear  on  that  oc- 
casion ?' '  asked  Reilly. 

11  Dress — why,  then,  an  old  yellow  caubeen,  a  blue  frieze 
coat,  and — movrone,  oh  ! — a  striped  breeches.  And  the 
worst  of  it  was,  that  big  Paddy  Mullin,  from  Mullaghmore, 
having  met  me  in  old  Darby  Doyle's,  poor  man,  where  I  went 
to  take  a  little  refreshment,  ordered  in  something  to  eat, 
and  began  to  make  me  play  for  him.  There  was  a  Protest- 
ant in  the  house,  too,  so  that  I  couldn't  tell  him  who  I  was, 
and  I  accordingly  began,  and  soon  cleared  the  house  of 
them.  God  bless  you,  sir,  you  could  little  dream  of  all  I 
went  through.  I  was  one  day  set  in  the  house  I  was  con- 
cealed in,  in  the  town  of  Ballyrogan,  and  only  for  the  town 
fool,  Art  M'Kenna,  I  suppose  I'd  have  swung  before  this." 

11  How  was  that  ?"  asked  Reilly. 

"  Why,  sir,  one  day  I  got  the  hard  word  that  they 
would  be  into  the  house  where  I  was  in  a  few  minutes. 
To  escape  them  in  my  own  dress  I  knew  was  impossible  ; 
and  what  was  to  be  done  ?  The  poor  fool,  who  was  as  true 
as  steel,  came  to  my  relief.  '  Here,'  said  he,  '  exchange  wid 
me.  I'll  put  on  your  black  clothes,  and  you'll  put  on  my 
red  ones  ' — he  was  dressed  like  an  old  soldier — '  then  I'll 
take  to  my  scrapers,  and  while  they  are  in  pursuit  of  me 
you  can  escape  to  some  friend's  house,  where  you  may  get 
another  dress.  God  knows,'  said  he,  with  a  grin  on  him  I 
didn't  like,  '  it's  a  poor  exchange  on  my  part.  You  can  play 
the  fool,  and  cock  your  cap,  without  any  one  to  ask  you  for 
authority,'  says  he,  '  and  if  I  only  marry  a  wrong  couple  I 
maybe  hanged.  Go  off  now.'  Well,  sir,  out  I  walked, 
dressed  in  a  red  coat,  military  hat,  white  knee-breeches,  and 
black  leggings.  As  I  was  going  out  I  met  the  soldiers. 
'  Is  the  priest  inside,  Art  ? '  they  asked.  I  pointed  in  a 
wrong  direction.  '  Up  by  Kilclay  ? '  I  nodded.  The  first 
searched  the  house,  however,  but  found  neither  priest  nor 


WILLY  REILLY.  141 

fool  ;  only  one  of  them,  something  sharper  than  the  rest, 
went  out  of  the  back  door,  and  saw  unfortunate  Art,  dressed 
in  black,  running  for  the  bare  life.  Of  course  they  thought 
it  was  me  they  had.  Off  they  started  ;  and  a  tolerable 
chase  Art  put  them  to.  At  last  he  was  caught,  after  a  run 
across  the  country  of  about  four  miles  ;  but  ne'er  a  word 
came  out  of  his  lips,  till  a  keen  fellow,  on  looking  closely  at 
him,  discovered  the  mistake.  Some  of  them  were  then  go- 
ing to  kill  the  poor  fool,  but  others  interfered,  and  wouldn't 
allow  him  to  be  touched  ;  and  many  of  them  laughed  heart- 
ily when  they  saw  Art  turned  into  a  clergyman,  as  they 
said.  Art,  however,  was  no  coward,  and  threatened  to 
read  every  man  of  them  out  from  the  altar.  '  I'll  exkimni- 
cate  every  mother's  son  of  you,'  said  he.  '  I'm  a  reverend 
clargy  ;  and,  by  the  contents  of  my  soger's  cap,  I'll  close 
the  mouths  on  your  faces,  so  that  a  blessed  pratie  or  a  boult 
of  fat  bacon  will  never  go  down  one  of  your  villanous 
throats  again  ;  and  then,'  he  added,  '  I'll  sell  you  for 
scarecrows  to  the  Pope  o'  Room,  who  wants  a  dozen  or  two 
of  you  to  sweep  out  his  palace.'  It  was  then,  sir,  that,  while 
I  was  getting  out  of  my  red  clothes,  I  was  transformed 
again  ;  but,  indeed,  the  most  of  us  are  so  now,  God  help 
us  !" 

They  had  now  arrived  at  a  narrow  part  of  the  road,  when 
the  priest  stood. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  "I  am  very  tired  ;  but,  as  it  is, 
we  must  go  on  a  couple  of  miles  further,  until  we  reach 
Glen  Dhu,  where  I  think  I  can  promise  you  a  night's  lodg- 
ing, such  as  it  will  be." 

"I  am  easily  satisfied,"  replied  his  companion  ;  "  it  would 
be  a  soft  bed  that  would  win  me  to  repose  on  this  night,  at 
least." 

11  It  will  certainly  be  a  rude  and  a  rough  one,"  said  the 
priest,  "  and  there  will  be  few  hearts  there  free  from  care, 
no  more  than  yours,  Mr.  Reilly.  Alas  !  that  I  should  be 
obliged  to  say  so  in  a  Christian  country." 

"You  say  you  are  fatigued,"  said  Reilly.  "Take  my 
arm  ;  I  am  strong  enough  to  yield  you  some  support. 

The  priest  did  so,  and  the  proceeded  at  a  slower  pace, 
until  they  got  over  the  next  two  miles,  when  the  priest 
stopped  again. 

"  I  must  rest  a  little,"  said  he,  "  although  we  arc  now 


142  WILLY  REILLY. 

within  a  hundred  yards  of  our  berth  for  the  night.     Do  you 
know  where  you  are  ?" 

"Perfectly,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "but,  good  mercy!  sure 
there  is  neither  house  nor  home  within  two  miles  of  us. 
We  are  in  the  moors,  at  the  very  mouth  of  Glen  Dhu." 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  companion,  "  and  I  am  glad  we  are 
here." 

The  poor  hunted  priest  felt  himself,  indeed,  very  much 
exhausted,  so  much  so  that,  if  the  termination  of  his  journey 
had  been  at  a  much  longer  distance  from  thence,  he  would 
scarcely  have  been  able  to  reach  it. 

"  God  help  our  unhappy  Church,"  said  he,  "  for  she  is 
suffering  much  ;  but  still  she  is  suffering  nobly,  and  with 
such  Christian  fortitude  as  will  make  her  days  of  trial  and 
endurance  the  brightest  in  her  annals.  All  that  power  and 
persecution  can  direct  against  us  is  put  in  force  a  thousand 
ways  ;  but  we  act  under  the  consciousness  that  we  have 
God  and  truth  on  our  side,  and  this  gives  us  strength  and 
courage  to  suffer.  And  if  we  fly,  Mr.  Reilly,  and  hide  our- 
selves, it  is  not  from  any  moral  cowardice  we  do  so.  It 
certainly  is  not  true  courage  to  expose  our  lives  wantonly 
and  unnecessarily  to  the  vengeance  of  our  enemies.  Read 
the  Old  Testament  and  history,  and  you  will  find  how  many 
good  and  pious  men  have  sought  shelter  in  wildernesses  and 
caves,  as  we  have  done.  The  truth  is,  we  feel  ourselves 
called  upon,  for  the  sake  of  our  suffering  and  neglected 
flocks,  to  remain  in  the  country,  and  to  afford  them  all  the 
consolation  and  religious  support  in  our  power,  God  help 
them." 

"  I  admire  the  justice  of  your  sentiments,"  replied  Reilly, 
"  and  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  expressed.  Indeed  I  am 
of  opinion  that  if  those  who  foster  and  stimulate  this  detest- 
able spirit  of  persecution  against  you  only  knew  how  cer- 
tainly and  surely  it  defeats  their  purpose,  by  cementing  your 
hearts  and  the  hearts  of  your  flocks  together,  they  would 
not,  from  principles  even  of  worldly  policy,  persist  in  it. 
The  man  who  attempted  to  break  down  the  arch  by  heaping 
additional  weight  upon  it  ultimately  found  that  the  greater 
the  weight  the  stronger  the  arch,  and  so  I  trust  it  will  be 
with  us." 

"  It  would  seem,"  said  the  priest,  "to  be  an  attempt  to 
exterminate  the  religion  of  the  people   by  depriving  them 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  143 

of  their  pastors,  and  consequently  of  their  Church,  in  order 
to  bring  them  to  the  impression  that, upon  the  principle  of  any 
Church  being  better  than  no  Church,  they  may  gradually  be 
absorbed  into  Protestantism.  This  seems  to  be  their  policy  ; 
but  how  can  any  policy,  based  upon  such  persecution,  and 
so  grossly  at  variance  with  human  liberty,  ever  succeed  ? 
As  it  is,  we  go  out  in  the  dead  hours  of  the  night,  when  even 
persecution  is  asleep,  and  administer  the  consolations  of  re- 
ligion to  the  sick,  the  dying,  and  the  destitute.  Now  these 
stolen  visits  are  sweeter,  perhaps,  and  more  efficacious,  than 
if  they  took  place  in  freedom  and  the  open  day.  Again,  we 
educate  their  children  in  the  principles  of  their  creed,  during 
the  same  lonely  hours,  in  waste  houses,  where  we  are  obliged 
to  keep  the  windows  staffed  with  straw,  or  covered  with 
blinds  of  some  sort,  lest  a  chance  of  discovery  might  ensue. 
Such  is  the  life  we  lead — a  life  of  want  and  misery  and  suf- 
fering, but  we  complain  not  ;  on  the  contrary,  we  submit 
ourselves  to  the  will  of  God,  and  receive  this  severe  visita- 
tion as  a  chastisement  intended  for  our  good." 

The  necessities  of  our  narrative,  however,  compel  us  to 
leave  them  here  for  the  present  ;  but  not  without  a  hope 
that  they  found  shelter  for  the  night,  as  we  trust  we  shall 
be  able  to  show. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

REILLY'S  ADVENTURE  CONTINUED — A  PROSPECT  OF  BY-GONE 
TIMES — REILLY  GETS  A  BED  IN  A  CURIOUS  ESTABLISHMENT. 

WE  now  beg  our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  the  library 
of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  where  that  worthy  gentle- 
man sits,  with  a  bottle  of  Madeira  before  him  ;  for  Sir 
Robert,  in  addition  to  his  many  other  good  qualities,  pos- 
sessed that  of  being  a  private  drinker.  The  bottle,  we  say, 
Avas  before  him,  and  with  a  smile  of  triumph  and  satisfaction 
on  his  face,  he  arose  and  rang  the  bell.  In  a  few  minutes 
a  liveried  servant  attended  it. 
"  Carson,  send  O'Donnel  here." 

Carson  bowed  and  retired,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  Red 
Rapparee  entered. 


144  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  How  is  this,  O'Donnel  ?  Have  you  thrown  aside  your 
uniform  ?" 

"  I  didn't  think  I'd  be  called  out  on  duty  again  to-night, 
sir." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  O'Donnel — it  doesn't  matter.  What 
do  you  think  of  the  bonfire  ?" 

"  Begad,  it  was  a  beauty,  sir,  and  well  managed." 

"  Ay,  but  I  am  afraid,  O'Donnel,  I  went  a  little  too  far 
— that  I  stretched  my  authority  somewhat." 

11  But  isn't  he  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw,  Sir  Robert  ?  and  in 
that  case — " 

"  Yes,  O'Donnel  ;  and  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw  of  my  own 
making,  which  is  the  best  of  it.  The  fellow  might  have  lain 
there,  concocting  his  treason,  long  enough,  only  for  my  vigi- 
lance. However,  it's  all  right.  The  government,  to  which 
I  have  rendered  "such  important  services,  will  stand  by  me, 
and  fetch  me  out  of  the  burning — that  is,  if  there  has  been 
any  transgression  of  the  law  in  it.  The  Papists  are  privately 
recruiting  for  the  French  service,  and  that  is  felony  ;  Reilly 
also  was  recruiting  for  the  French  service — was  he  not  ?" 

11  He  offered  me  a  commission,  sir." 

"  Very  good  ;  that's  all  right  ?  but  can  you  prove  that  ?" 

11  Why,  I  can  swear  it,  Sir  Robert." 

11  Better  still.  But  do  you  think  he  is  in  the  country, 
O'Donnel?" 

11  I  would  rather  swear  he  is,  sir,  than  that  he  is  not.  He 
won't  lave  her  aisily. " 

11  Who  do  you  mean  by  her^  sir  ?" 

11  I  would  rather  not  name  her,  your  honor,  in  comfection 
with  the  vagabond." 

"  That's  delicate  of  you,  O'Donnel  ;  I  highly  approve  of 
your  sentiment.     Here,  have  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Robert  ;  but  have  you  any  brandy,  sir  ? 
My  tongue  is  as  dry  as  a  stick,  wid  that  glorious  bonfire  we 
had  ;  but,  besides,  sir,  I  wish  to  drink  success  to  you  in  all 
your  undertakings.  A  happy  marriage,  sir  !"  and  he  ac- 
companied the  words  with  a  ferocious  grin. 

"  You  shall  have  one  glass  of  brandy,  O'Donnel,  but  no 
more.     I  wish  you  to  deliver  a  letter  for  me  to-night.     It  is 

to  the  sheriff,  who  dines  with  Lord ,  a  friend  of  mine  ; 

and  I  wish  you  to  deliver  it  at  his  lordship's  house,  where 
you  will  be  sure  to  find  him.     The  letter  is  of  the  greatest 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  145 

importance,  and  you  will  take  care  to  deliver  it  safely.  No 
answer  by  you  is  required.  He  was  out  to-day,  levying  fines 
from  Popish  priests,  and  a  heavy  one  from  the  Popish 
bishop,  and  I  do  not  think,  with  a  large  sum  of  money  about 
him,  that  he  will  go  home  to-night.  Here  is  the  letter.  I 
expect  he  will  call  on  me  in  the  morning,  to  breakfast — at 
least  I  have  asked  him,  for  we  have  very  serious  business  to 
discuss." 

The  Rapparee  took  the  letter,  finished  his  glass  of  brandy, 
and  disappeared  to  fulfil  his  commission. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  on  that  very  evening,  before 
the  premises  had  been  set  on  fire,  Mary  Mahon,  by  O'Don- 
nel's  order,  had  entered  the  house,  and  under,  as  it  were,  the 
protection  of  the  military,  gathered  up  as  much  of  Reilly's 
clothes  and  linen  as  she  could  conveniently  carry  to  her 
cottage,  which  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Whitecraft's 
residence — it  being  the  interest  of  this  hypocritical  volup- 
tuary to  have  the  corrupt  wretch  near  him.  The  Rapparee, 
having  left  Whitecraft  to  his  reflections,  immediately  di- 
rected his  steps  to  her  house,  and,  with  her  connivance, 
changed  the  dress  he  had  on  for  one  which  she  had  taken 
from  Reilly's  wardrobe.  He  then  went  to  the  house  of  the 
nobleman  where  the  sheriff  was  dining,  but  arrived  only  in 
time  to  hear  that  he  was  about  to  take  horse  on  his  return 
home.  On  seeing  him  preparing  to  mount,  bearing  a  lan- 
tern in  his  hand,  as  the  night  was  dark  and  the  roads  bad, 
he  instantly  changed  his  purpose  as  to  the  letter,  and  came 
to  the  resolution  of  not  delivering  it  at  all. 

"  I  can  easily  say,"  thought  he,  "  that  the  sheriff  had 
gone  home  before  I  came,  and  that  will  be  a  very  sufficient 
excuse.  In  the  meantime,"  he  added,  **  I  will  cross  the 
country  and  be  out  on  the  road  before  him." 

The  sheriff  was  not  unarmed,  however,  and  felt  him- 
self tolerably  well  prepared  for  any  attack  that  might  be 
made  on  him  ;  and,  besides,  he  was  no  coward.  After  a 
ride  of  about  two  miles  he  found  himself  stopped,  and  al- 
most at  the  same  instant  the  lantern  that  he  carried  was 
knocked  out  of  his  hand  and  extinguished,  but  not  until  he 
caught  a  faint  glimpse  of  the  robber's  person,  who,  from  his 
dress,  appeared  to  be  a  man  much  above  the  common  class. 
Quick  as  lightning  he  pulled  out  one  of  his  pistols,  and, 
cocking  it,  held  himself  in  readiness.     The  night  was  dark, 


146  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

and  this  preparation  for  self-defence  was  unknown  to  his 
assailant.  On  feeling  the  reins  of  his  horse's  bridle  in  the 
hands  of  the  robber,  he  snapped  the  pistol  at  his  head,  but 
alas  !  it  only  flashed  in  the  pan.  The  robber,  on  the  other 
hand,  did  not  seem  anxious  to  take  his  life,  for  it  was  a 
principle  among  the  Rapparees  to  shed,  while  exercising 
their  rapacious  functions,  as  little  blood  as  possible.  They 
have  frequently  taken  life  from  a  feeling  of  private  ven- 
geance, but  not  often  while  robbing  on  the  king's  highway. 
The  sheriff,  now  finding  that  one  pistol  had  missed,  was 
about  to  draw  cut  the  second,  when  he  was  knocked  insen- 
sible off  his  horse,  and  on  recovering  found  himself  minus 
the  fines  which  he  had  that  day  levied — all  the  private  cash 
about  him — and  his  case  of  pistols.  This  indeed  was  a 
bitter  incident  to  him  ;  because,  in  addition  to  the  loss  of 
his  private  purse  and  firearms — which  he  valued  as  nothing 
— he  knew  that  he  was  responsible  to  government  for  the 
amount  of  the  fines. 

With  considerable  difficulty  he  was  able  to  remount  his 
horse,  and  with  a  sense  of  stupor,  which  was  very  painful, 
he  recommenced  his  journey  home.  After  a  ride  of  about 
two  miles  he  met  three  horsemen,  who  immediately  chal- 
lenged him  and  demanded  his  name  and  residence. 

"  I  am  the  sheriff  of  the  county,"  he  replied,  "  and  have 
been  robbed  of  a  large  sum  of  money  and  my  pistols  ;  and 
now,"  he  added,  "  may  I  beg  to  know  who  you  are,  and  by 
what  authority  you  demand  my  name  and  residence  ?" 

11  Excuse  us,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  they  replied  ;  "  we  belong  to 
the  military  detachment  which  government  has  placed 
under  the  control  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff  ;  "  I  wish  to  heaven 
you  had  been  a  little  more  advanced  on  your  journey  ;  you 
might  have  saved  me  from  being  plundered,  as  I  have  been, 
and  probably  secured  the  robber." 

"  Could  you  observe,  sir,  what  was  the  villain's  appear- 
ance ?" 

"  I  had  a  small  lantern,"  replied  the  functionary,  "  by 
which  I  caught  a  brief  but  uncertain  glance  of  him.  I  am 
not  quite  certain  that  I  could  recognize  his  features,  though, 
if  I  saw  him  again — but  perhaps  I  might  ;  certainly  I  could 
his  dress." 

11  How  was  he  dressed,  sir  ?"  they  inquired. 


WILLY  REILLY.  147 

"  Quite  beyond  the  common,"  said  the  sheriff  ;  "  I  think 
he  had  on  a  brown  coat,  of  superior  cloth  and  make,  and  I 
think,  too,  the  buckles  of  his  shoes  were  silver." 

"  And  his  features,  Mr.  Sheriff  ?" 

"I  cannot  exactly  say,"  he  returned  ;  "  I  was  too  much 
agitated  to  be  able  to  recollect  them  ;  but  indeed  the  dim 
glimpse  I  got  was  too  brief  to  afford  me  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  them  with  any  thing  like  distinctness." 

11  From  the  description  you  have  given,  sir,"  said  one  of 
them,  "  the  man  who  robbed  you  must  have  been  Reilly  the 
Outlaw.  That  is  the  very  dress  he  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
wearing.     Was  he  tall,  sir,  and  stout  in  person  ?" 

11  He  was  a  very  large  man,  certainly,"  replied  the  sheriff  ; 
"  and  I  regret  I  did  not  see  his  face  more  distinctly." 

"  It  can  be  no  other,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  observed  the  man  ; 
11  the  fellow  has  no  means  of  living  now,  unless  by  levying 
contributions  on  the  road.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  scoun- 
drel can  make  himself  invisible  ;  but  it  must  go  hard  with 
us  or  we  will  secure  him  yet.  Would  you  wish  an  escort 
home,  Mr.  Sheriff  ?  because,  if  you  do,  we  shall  accompany 
you." 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  "I  thank  you.  I  would  not 
have  ventured  home  unattended  if  the  Red  Rapparee  had 
still  been  at  his  vocation,  and  his  gang  undispersed  ;  but  as 
he  is  now  on  the  safe  side,  I  apprehend  no  danger." 

"  It's  not  at  all  impossible  but  Reilly  may  step  into  his 
shoes,"  said  the  cavalryman. 

"  I  have  now  neither  money  nor  arms,"  continued  the 
sheriff  ;  "  nothing  the  villain  robbers  could  covet,  and 
what,  then,  have  I  to  fear  ?" 

"You  have  a  life,  sir,"  observed  the  man  respectfully, 
"  and  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  it — the  life  of  a  man  who  is 
not  very  well  liked  in  the  country,  in  consequence  of  certain 
duties  you  are  obliged  to  perform.  Come,  then,  sir,  we  shall 
see  you  home." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  the  sheriff  reached  his  own  resi- 
dence, under  their  escort,  with  perfect  safety. 

This  indeed  was  a  night  of  adventure  to  Reilly — hunted, 
as  he  was,  like  a  beast  of  prey.  After  what  had  taken  place 
already  in  the  early  portion  of  it,  he  apprehended  no  further 
pursuit,  and  in  this  respect  he  felt  his  mind  comparatively 
at   ease — for,    in   addition   to   any  other    conviction  of   his 


I48  WILLY  REILLY. 

safety,  he  knew  that  the  night  was  far  advanced,  and  as  the 
country  was  unsettled,  he  was  not  ignorant  that  the  small 
military  parties  that  were  in  the  habit  of  scouring  the  coun- 
try generally — unless  when  in  the  execution  of  some  express 
duty — retired  to  their  quarters  at  an  early  hour,  in  order  to 
avoid  the  severe  retaliations  which  were  frequently  made 
upon  them  by  the  infuriated  peasantry  whom  they — or 
rather  the  government  which  employed  them — had  almost 
driven  to  madness,  and  would  have  driven  to  insurrection 
had  the  people  possessed  the  means  of  rising.  As  it  was, 
however,  he  dreaded  no  further  pursuit  this  night,  for  the 
reasons  which  we  have  stated. 

In  the  meantime  the  sheriff,  feeling  obliged  by  the  civility 
of  the  three  dragoons,  gave  them  refreshments  on  a  very 
liberal  scale,  of  which — rather  exhausted  as  they  were — they 
made  a  very  liberal  use.  Feeling  themselves  now  consider- 
ably stimulated  by  liquor,  they  mounted  their  horses  and 
proceeded  towards  their  barracks  at  a  quick  pace.  In  con- 
sequence of  the  locality  in  which  the  sheriff  lived,  it  was 
necessary  that  they  should  travel  in  a  direction  opposite  to 
that  by  which  Reilly  and  the  priest  were  going.  At  all 
events,  after  riding  a  couple  of  miles,  they  overtook  three 
infantry  soldiers  who  were  also  on  their  way  to  quarters. 
The  blood,  however,  of  the  troopers  was  up— thanks  to  the 
sheriff ;  they  mentioned  the  robbery,  and  requested  the  three 
infantry  to  precede  them  as  an  advanced  guard,  as  quietly 
as  possible,  stating  that  there  might  still  be  a  chance  of  com- 
ing across  the  villain  who  had  plundered  the  sheriff,  inti- 
mating their  impression,  at  the  same  time,  that  Reilly  was 
the  man,  and  adding  that  if  they  could  secure  him  their 
fortune  was  made.  As  has  always  been  usual  in  executing 
cases  of  the  law  attended  with  peculiar  difficulty':  these  men 
— the  infantry— like  our  present  detectives,  had  gone  out 
that  night  in  colored  clothes.  On  perceiving  two  individu- 
als approaching  them  in  the  dim  distance,  they  immediately 
threw  their  guns  into  the  ditch,  lest  they  should  put  our 
friends  upon  their  guard  and  cause  them  to  escape  if  they 
could.  Reilly  could  have  readily  done  so  ;  but  having, 
only  a  few  minutes  before,  heard  from  the  poor  old  priest 
that  he  had,  for  some  months  past,  been  branded  and  pur- 
sued as  a  felon,  he  could  not  think  of  abandoning  him  now 
that  he  was  feeble  and  jaded  with  fatigue   as  well  as  with 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  149 

age.  Now  it  so  happened  that  one  of  these  fellows  had 
been  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  having  committed  some  breach 
of  the  law,  found  it  as  safe  as  it  was  convenient  to  change 
his  creed,  and  as  he  spoke  the  Irish  language  fluently — in- 
deed there  were  scarcely  any  other  then  spoken  by  the 
peasantry — he  commenced  clapping  his  hands  on  seeing 
the  two  men,  and  expressing  the  deepest  sorrow  for  the  loss 
of  his  wife,  from  whose  funeral,  it  appeared  from  his  lamen- 
tations, he  was  then  returning. 

"We  have  nothing  to  apprehend  here,"  said  Reilly  ; 
"  this  poor  fellow  is  in  sorrow,  it  seems — God  help  him  ! 
Let  us  proceed." 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  the  treacherous  villain,  clapping  his 
hands — [we  translate  his  words] — "Oh,  Yeeah !  Yeeah!* 
what  a  bitther  loss  you'll  be,  my  darlin'  Madge,  to  me  and 
your  orphan  childher,  now  and  for  evermore  !  Oh,  where 
was  there  sich  a  wife,  neighbors  ?  who  ever  heard  her  harsh 
word,  or  her  loud  voice  ?  And  from  mornin'  till  night  ever, 
ever  busy  in  keepin'  every  thing  tight  and  clane  and  reg- 
ular !  Let  me  alone,  will  yez  ?  I'll  go  back  and  sleep  upon 
her  grave  this  night — so  I  will  ;  and  if  all  the  blasted  sogers 
in  Ireland — may  sweet  bad  luck  to  them  ! — were  to  come 
to  prevent  me,  I'd  not  allow  them.  Oh,  Madge,  darlin', 
but  I'm  the  lonely  and  heartbroken  man  widout  you  this 
night  !" 

"Come,  come,"  said  the  priest,  "have  firmness,  poor 
man  ;  other  people  have  these  calamities  to  bear  as  well  as 
yourself.     Be  a  man." 

"  Oh,  are  you  a  priest,  sir  ?  bekase  if  you  are  I  want  con- 
solation if  ever  a  sorrowful  man  did." 

"  I  am  a  priest,"  replied  the  unsuspecting  man,  "  and 
any  thing  I  can  do  to  calm  your  mind,  I'll  do  it." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  when  Reilly  felt  his 
two  arms  strongly  pinioned,  and  as  the  men  who  had  seized 
him  were  powerful,  the  struggle  between  him  and  them  was 
dreadful.  The  poor  priest  at  the  same  moment  found  him- 
self also  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  bereaved  widower, 
to  whom  he  proved  an  easy  victim,  as  he  was  incapable  of 
making  resistance,  which,  indeed,  he  declined  to  attempt. 
If  he  did  not  possess  bodily  strength,  however,  he  was  not 

*  God,  God. 


150  WILLY  REILLY. 

without  presence  of  mind.  For  whilst  Reilly  and  his  cap- 
tors were  engaged  in  a  fierce  and  powerful  conflict,  he 
placed  his  fore-finger  and  thumb  in  his  mouth,  from  which 
proceeded  a  whistle  so  prercingly  loud  and  shrill  that  it 
awoke  the  midnight  echoes  around  them.  This  was  con- 
sidered by  the  dragoons  as  a  signal  from  their  friends  in 
advance,  and,  without  the  loss  of  a  moment,  they  set  spurs 
to  their  horses,  and  dashed  up  to  the  scene  of  struggle,  just 
as  Reilly  had  got  his  right  arm  extricated,  and  knocked  one 
of  his  captors  down.  In  an  instant,  however,  the  three  dra- 
goons, aided  by  the  other  men,  were  upon  him,  and  not  less 
than  three  cavalry  pistols  were  levelled  at  his  head.  Un- 
fortunately, at  this  moment  the  moon  began  to  rise,  and  the 
dragoons,  on  looking  at  him  more  closely,  observed  that  he 
was  dressed  precisely  as  the  sheriff  had  described  the  person 
who  robbed  him — the  brown  coat,  light-colored  breeches, 
and  silver  buckles — for  indeed  this  was  his  usual  dress. 

"You  are  Willy  Reilly,"  said  the  man  who  had  been 
spokesman  in  their  interview  with  the  sheriff  :  "  you  needn't 
deny  it,  sir — I  know  you  !" 

11  If  you  know  me,  then,"  replied  Reilly,  "  where  is  the 
necessity  for  asking  my  name  ?" 

"  I  ask  again,  sir,  what  is  your  name  ?  If  you  be  the  man 
I  suspect  you  to  be,  you  will  deny  it." 

11  My  name,"  replied  the  other,  "  is  William  Reilly,  and 
as  I  am  conscious  of  no  crime  against  society — of  no  offence 
against  the  State — I  shall  not  deny  it." 

11  I  knew  I  was  right,"  said  the  dragoon.  "  Mr.  Reilly, 
you  are  our  prisoner  on  many  charges,  not  the  least  of 
which  is  your  robbery  of  the  sheriff  this  night.  You  must 
come  with  us  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  ;  so  must  this  other 
person  who  seems  your  companion." 

"  Not  a  foot  I'll  go  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  to-night," 
replied  the  priest.  "  I  have  made  my  mind  up  against  such 
a  stretch  at  such  an  hour  as  this  ;  and,  with  the  help  of 
God,  I'll  stick  to  my  resolution." 

"  Why  do  you  refuse  to  go  ?"  asked  the  man,  a  good  deal 
surprised  at  such  language. 

"  Just  for  a  reason  I  have  :  as  for  that  fellow  being  Willy 
Reilly,  he's  no  more  Willy  Reilly  than  I  am  ;  whatever  he 
is,  however,  he's  a  good  man  and  true,  but  must  be  guided 
by  wiser  heads  than  his  own  ;  and  I  now  tell  him — ay,  and 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  151 

you  too — that  he  won't  see  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  treach- 
erous face  to-night,  no  more  than  myself." 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "  drag  the  idolatrous  old 
rebel  along.  Come,  my  old  couple-beggar,  there's  a  noose 
before  you." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  twenty  men, 
armed  with  strong  pikes,  jumped  out  on  the  road  before 
them,  and  about  the  same  number,  with  similar  weapons, 
behind  them.  In  fact,  they  were  completely  hemmed  in  ; 
and,  as  the  road  was  narrow  and  the  ditches  high,  they  were 
not  at  all  in  a  capacity  to  make  resistance. 

"  Surrender  your  prisoners,"  said  a  huge  man  in  a  voice 
of  thunder — "  surrender  your  prisoners — here  are  we  ten  to 
one  against  you  ;  or  if  you  don't,  I  swear  there  won't  be  a 
living  man  amongst  you  in  two  minutes'  time.  Mark  us 
well — we  are  every  man  of  us  armed — and  I  will  not  ask  you 
a  second  time." 

As  to  numbers  and  weapons  the  man  spoke  truth,  and 
the  military  party  saw  at  once  that  their  prisoners  must  be 
given  up. 

11  Let  us  have  full  revenge  on  them  now,  boys,"  ex- 
claimed several  voices  ;  "  down  with  the  tyrannical  villains 
that  are  parsecuting  and  murdherin'  the  country  out  of  a 
face.  This  night  closes  their  black  work  ;"  and  as  the 
words  were  uttered,  the  military  felt  themselves  environed 
and  pressed  in  upon  by  upwards  of  nve-and-twenty  sharp 
and  bristling  pikes. 

"  It  is  true,  you  may  murder  us,"  replied  the  dragoon  ; 
11  but  we  are  soldiers,  and  to  die  is  a  soldier's  duty.  Stand 
back,"  said  he,  "  for,  by  all  that's  sacred,  if  you  approach 
another  step,  William  Reilly  and  that  rebel  priest  will  fall 
dead  at  your  feet.  We  may  die  then  ;  but  we  will  sell  our 
lives  dearly.     Cover  the  priest,  Robinson." 

"  Boys,"  said  the  priest,  addressing  the  insurgent  party, 
"  hold  back,  for  God's  sake,  and  for  mine.  Remember 
that  these  men  are  only  doing  their  duty,  and  that  whoever 
is  to  be  blamed,  it  is  not  they — no,  but  the  wicked  men  and 
cruel  laws  that  set  them  upon  us.  Why,  now,  if  these  men, 
out  of  compassion  and  a  feeling  of  kindness  to  poor  persecuted 
creatures,  as  we  are,  took  it  into  their  heads  or  their  hearts  to 
let  that  man  and  me  off,  they  would  have  been,  probably,  treat- 
ed like  dogs  for  neglecting  their  duty.    I  am,  as  you  know,  a 


152  WILLY  REILLY. 

minister  of  God,  and  a  man  of  peace,  whose  duty  it  is  to 
prevent  bloodshed  whenever  I  can,  and  save  human  life, 
whether  it  is  that  of  a  Catholic  or  a  Protestant.  Recollect, 
my  friends,  that  you  will,  every  one  of  you,  have  to  stand 
before  the  judgment  throne  of  God  to  seek  for  mercy  and 
salvation.  As  you  hope  for  that  mercy,  then,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  your  utmost  need,  I  implore,  I  entreat  you,  to  show 
these  men  mercy  now,  and  allow  them  to  go  their  way  in 
safety." 

11  I  agree  with  every  word  the  priest  has  said,"  added 
Reilly  ;  "  not  from  any  apprehension  of  the  threat  held  out 
against  myself,  but  from,  I  trust,  a  higher  principle.  Here 
are  only  six  men,  who,  as  his  Reverence  justly  said,  are, 
after  all,  only  in  the  discharge  of  their  public  duty.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  at  least  forty  or  fifty  of  you  against 
them.  Now  I  appeal  to  yourselves,  whether  it  would  be  a 
manly,  or  generous,  or  Christian  act,  to  slaughter  so  poor  a 
handful  of  men  by  the  force  of  numbers.  No  :  there  would 
be  neither  credit  nor  honor  in  such  an  act.  I  assure  you, 
my  friends,  it  would  disgrace  your  common  name,  your 
common  credit,  and  your  common  country.  Nay,  it  would 
seem  like  cowardice,  and  only  give  a  handle  to  your  enemies 
to  tax  you  with  it.  But  I  know  you  are  not  cowards,  but 
brave  and  generous  men,  whose  hearts  and  spirits  are  above 
a  mean  action.  If  you  were  cowardly  butchers,  I  know  we 
might  speak  to  you  in  vain  ;  but  we  know  you  are  incapable 
of  imbruing  your  hands,  and  steeping  your  souls,  in  the  guilt 
of  unresisting  blood — for  so  I  may  term  it,  where  there  are 
so  few  against  so  many.  My  friends,  go  home,  then,  in  the 
name  of  God,  and,  as  this  reverend  gentleman  said,  allow 
these  men  to  pass  their  way  without  injury." 

11  But  who  are  you  ?"  said  their  huge  leader,  in  his  terrible 
voice,  "  who  presumes  to  lecture  us  ?" 

"I  am  one,"  replied  Reilly,  "who  has  suffered  more 
deeply,  probably,  than  any  man  here.  I  am  without  house 
or  home,  proscribed  by  the  vengeance  of  a  villain — a  villain 
who  has  left  me  without  a  shelter  for  my  head — who,  this 
night,  has  reduced  my  habitation,  and  all  that  appertained 
to  it,  to  a  heap  of  ashes — who  is  on  my  trail,  night  and  day, 
and  who  will  be  on  my  trail,  in  order  to  glut  his  vengeance 
with  my  blood.  Now,  my  friends,  listen — I  take  God  to  wit- 
ness, that  if  that  man  were  here  at  this  moment,  I  would  plead 


WILLY  REILLY.  153 

for  his  life  with  as  much  earnestness  as  I  do  for  those  of  the 
men  who  are  here  at  your  mercy.  I  feel  that  it  would  be 
cowardly  and  inhuman  to  take  it  under  such  circumstances  ; 
yes,  and  unworthy  of  the  name  of  William  Reilly.  Now," 
he  added,  "  these  men  will  pass  safely  to  their  quarters." 

As  they  were  about  to  resume  their  journey,  the  person 
who  seemed  to  have  the  command  of  the  military  said  : 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  one  word  with  you  :  I  feel  that  you  have 
saved  our  lives  ;  I  may  requite  you  for  that  generous  act 
yet  ;"  and  he  pressed  his  hand  warmly  as  he  spoke,  after 
which  they  proceeded  on  their  way. 

That  the  person  of  Reilly  was  not  recognized  by  any  of 
these  men  is  accounted  for  by  a  well-known  custom,  pecu- 
liar to  such  meetings,  both  then  and  now.  The  individuals 
before  and  around  him  were  all  strangers,  from  distant  parts 
of  the  country  ;  for  whenever  an  outrage  is  to  be  committed, 
or  a  nocturnal  drilling  to  take  place,  the  peasantry  start 
across  the  country,  in  twos  and  threes,  until  they  quietly 
reach  some  lonely  and  remote  spot,  where  their  persons  are 
not  known. 

No  sooner  had  he  mentioned  /its  name,  however,  than 
there  arose  a  peculiar  murmur  among  the  insurgents — such  a 
murmur  indeed  as  it  was  difficult  to  understand  ;  there  was 
also  a  rapid  consultation  in  Irish,  which  was  closed  by  a 
general  determination  to  restrain  their  vengeance  for  that 
night,  at  least,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  celebrated  young 
martyr — for  as  such  they  looked  upon  him — to  allow  the 
military  to  pass  on  without  injury.  Reilly  then  addressed 
them  in  Irish,  and  thanked  them,  both  in  his  own  name  and 
that  of  the  priest,  for  the  respect  evinced  by  their  observa- 
tion of  the  advice  they  had  given  them.  The  priest  also 
addressed  them  in  Irish,  aware,  as  he  was,  that  one  sentence 
in  that  language,  especially  from  a  person  in  a  superior  rank 
of  life,  carries  more  weight  than  a  whole  oration  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Sassenagh.  The  poor  old  man's  mind  was 
once  more  at  ease,  and  after  these  rough,  but  not  intractable, 
men  had  given  three  cheers  for  "  bould  Willy  Reilly," 
three  more  for  the  Coolecn  Bawn,  not  forgetting  the  priest, 
the  latter,  while  returning  thanks,  had  them  in  convulsions 
of  laughter. 

11  May  I  never  do  harm,"  proceeded  his  reverence 
humorously,  "  but  the  first  Christian  duty  that  every  true 


1 54  WILLY  RELLLY. 

Catholic  ought  to  learn  is  to  whistle  on  his  fingers.  The 
moment  ever  your  children,  boys,  are  able  to  give  a  squall, 
clap  their  forefinger  and  thumb  in  their  mouth,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  nature.  Let  them  talk  of  their  spinnet  and  sin- 
net,  their  fiddle  and  their  diddle,  their  dancing-  and  their 
prancing,  but  there  is  no  genteel  accomplishment  able  to  be 
compared  to  a  rousing  whistle  on  the  fingers.  See  what  it 
did  for  us  to-night.  My  soul  to  glory,  but  only  for  it,  Mr. 
Reilly,  and  I  would  have  soon  taken  a  journey  with  our  heels 
foremost  ;  and,  what  is  worse,  the  villains  would  have  forced 
us  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  our  own  funeral  from  the 
three  sticks,  meaning  the  two  that  stand  up,  and  the  third 
that  goes  across  them.*  However,  God's  good,  and,  after 
all,  boys,  you  see  there  is  nothing  like  an  accomplished  edu- 
cation. As  to  the  soldiers,  I  don't  think  myself  that  they'll 
recover  the  bit  of  fright  they  got  until  the  new  potatoes 
come  in.  Troth,  while  you  were  gathering  in  about  them,  I 
felt  that  the  unfortunate  vagabonds  were  to  be  pitied  ;  but, 
Lord  help  us,  when  men  are  in  trouble — especially  in  fear 
of  their  lives — and  with  twelve  inches  of  sharp  iron  near 
their  breasts,  it's  wonderful  what  effect  fear  will  have  on 
them.  Troth,  I  wasn't  far  from  feeling  the  same  thing  my- 
self, only  I  knew  there  was  relief  at  hand  ;  at  all  events,  it's 
well  you  kept  your  hands  off  them,  for  now,  thank  good- 
ness, you  can  step  home  without  the  guilt  of  murder  on  your 
souls." 

Father  Maguire,  for  such  was  his  name,  possessed  the  art 
of  adapting  his  language  and  dialect  to  those  whom  he  ad- 
dressed, it  mattered  not  whether  they  were  South,  West,  or 
North  ;  he  was,  in  fact,  a  priest  who  had  never  been  in  any 
college,  but  received  ordination  in  consequence  of  the 
severity  of  the  laws,  whose  operation,  by  banishing  so  many 
of  that  class  from  the  country,  rendered  the  services  of  such 
men  indispensable  to  the  spiritual  wants  of  the  people.  Fa- 
ther Maguire,  previous  to  his  receiving  holy  orders,  had 
been  a  schoolmaster,  and  exercised  his  functions  on  that 
capacity  in  holes  and  corners  ;  sometimes  on  the  sheltery  or 
sunny  side  of  a  hedge,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  on  other 
occasions  when  and  where  he  could.  In  his  magisterial 
capacity,  "  the  accomplishment"  of  whistling  was  absolutely 

*  The  gallows, 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  155 

necessary  to  him,  because  it  often  happened  that  in  stealing 
in  the  morning  from  his  retreat  during  the  preceding  night, 
he  knew  no  more  where  to  meet  his  little  flock  of  scholars 
than  they  did  where  to  meet  him,  the  truth  being  that  he 
seldom  found  it  safe  to  teach  two  days  successively  in  the 
same  place.  Having  selected  the  locality  for  instruction 
during  the  day,  he  put  his  forefinger  and  thumb  into  his 
mouth,  and  emitted  a  whistle  that  went  over  half  the  coun- 
try. Having  thus  given  the  signal  three  times,  his  scholars 
began  gradually  and  cautiously  to  make  their  appearance, 
radiating  towards  him  from  all  directions,  reminding  one  of 
a  hen  in  a  farm-yard,  who,  having  fallen  upon  some  whole- 
some crumbs,  she  utters  that  peculiar  sound  which  immedi- 
ately collects  her  eager  little  flock  about  her,  in  order  to  dis- 
pense among  them  the  good  things  she  has  to  give.  Poor 
Father  Maguire  was  simplicity  itself,  for,  although  cheerful, 
and  a  good  deal  of  a  humorist,  yet  he  was  pious,  inoffen- 
sive, and  charitable.  True,  it  is  not  to  be  imagined  that  he 
could  avoid  bearing  a  very  strong  feeling  of'  enmity  against 
the  Establishment,  as,  indeed,  we  do  not  see,  so  long  as 
human  nature  is  what  it  is,  how  he  could  have  done  other- 
wise ;  he  hated  it,  however,  in  the  aggregate,  not  in  detail, 
for  the  truth  is,  that  he  received  shelter  and  protection 
nearly  as  often  from  the  Protestants  themselves,  both  lay 
and  clerical,  as  he  did  from  those  of  his  own  creed.  The 
poor  man's  crime  against  the  State  proceeded  naturally  from 
the  simplicity  of  his  character  and  the  goodness  of  his  heart. 
A  Protestant  peasant  had  seduced  a  Catholic  young  woman 
of  considerable  attractions,  and  was  prevailed  upon  to  marry 
her,  in  order  to  legitimize  the  infant  which  she  was  about  to 
bear.  Our  poor  priest,  anxious  to  do  as  much  good,  and  to 
prevent  as  much  evil  as  be  could,  was  prevailed  upon  to 
perform  the  ceremony,  contrary  to  the  law  in  that  case  made 
and  provided.  Ever  since  that,  the  poor  man  had  been 
upon  his  keeping  like  a  felon,  as  the  law  had  made  him  ; 
but  so  well  known  were  his  harmless  life,  his  goodness  of 
heart,  and  his  general  benevolence  of  disposition — for,  alas  ! 
he  was  incapable  of  being  benevolent  in  any  practical  sense 
— that,  unless  among  the  bigoted  officials  of  the  day,  there 
existed  no  very  strong  disposition  to  hand  him  over  to  the 
clutches  of  the  terrible  statute  which  he  had,  good  easy 
man,  been  prevailed  on  to  violate. 


156  WILLY  REILLY. 

In  the  meantime,  the  formidable  body  who  had  saved 
Reilly's  life  and  his  own  dispersed,  or  disappeared  at  least  ; 
but  not  until  they  had  shaken  hands  most  cordially  with 
Reilly  and  the  priest,  who  now  found  themselves  much  in 
the  same  position  in  which  they  stood  previous  to  their  sur- 
prise and  arrest. 

"  Now,"  said  Reilly,  "  the  question  is,  what  are  we  to 
do  ?  where  are  we  to  go  ?  and  next,  how  did  you  come  to 
know  of  the  existence  in  this  precise  locality  of  such  a  body 
of  men  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  set  my  face  against  such  meetings," 
replied  the  priest.  "  One  of  those  who  was  engaged  to  be 
present  happened  to  mention  the  fact  to  me  as  a  clergyman, 
but  you  know  that,  as  a  clergyman,  I  can  proceed  no  fur- 
ther." 

11  I  understand,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  perfectly  understand 
you.     It  is  not  necessary.     And  now  let  me  say — " 

"  Always  trust  in  God,  my  friend,"  replied  the  priest,  in 
an  accent  quite  different  from  that  which  he  had  used  to  the 
peasantry.  "  I  told  you,  not  long  ago,  that  you  would  have 
a  bed  to-night  :  follow  me,  and  I  will  lead  you  to  a  crypt 
of  nature's  own  making,  which  was  not  known  to  mortal 
man  three  months  ago,  and  which  is  now  known  only  to 
those  whose  interest  it  is  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  it  silent 
as  the  grave." 

They  then  proceeded,  and  soon  came  to  a  gap  or  opening 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road  through  which  they  passed, 
the  priest  leading.  Next  they  found  themselves  in  a  wild 
gully  or  ravine  that  was  both  deep  and  narrow.  This  they 
crossed,  and  arrived  at  a  ledge  of  precipitous  rocks,  most  of 
which  were  overhung  to  the  very  ground  with  long  luxuriant 
heather.  The  priest  went  along  this  until  he  came  to  one 
particular  spot,  when  he  stooped,  and  observed  a  particular 
round  stone  bedded  naturally  in  the  earth. 

"  God — blessed  be  his  name — has  made  nothing  in  vain," 
he  whispered  ;  "  I  must  go  foremost,  but  do  as  I  do."  He 
then  raised  up  the  long  heath,  and  entered  a  low,  narrow  fis- 
sure in  the  rocks,  Reilly  following  him  closely.  The 
entrance  was  indeed  so  narrow  that  it  was  capable  of  ad- 
mitting but  one  man  at  a  time,  and  even  that  by  his  working 
himself  in  upon  his  knees  and  elbows.  In  this  manner  they 
advanced  in  utter  darkness  for   about   thirty  yards,   when 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  157 

they  reached  a  second  opening,  about  three  feet  high,  which 
bore  some  resemblance  to  a  Gothic  arch.  This  also  it  was 
necessary  to  enter  consecutively.  Having  passed  this  they 
were  able  to  proceed  upon  their  legs,  still  stooping,  how- 
ever, until,  as  they  got  onwards,  they  found  themselves  able 
to  walk  erect.  A  third  and  larger  opening,  however,  was 
still  before  them,  over  which  hung  a  large  thick  winnow- 
cloth. 

"  Now,"  said  the  priest,  "  leave  every  thing  to  me.  If  we 
were  to  put  our  heads  in  rashly  here  we  might  get  a  pair  of 
bullets  through  them  that  would  have  as  little  mercy  on  us 
as  those  of  the  troopers,  had  we  got  them.  No  clergyman 
here,  or  anywhere  else,  ever  carries  firearms,  but  there  are 
laymen  inside  who  are  not  bound  by  our  regulations.  The 
only  arms  we  are  allowed  to  carry  are  the  truths  of  our 
religion  and  the  integrity  of  our  lives." 

He  then  advanced  a  step  or  two,  and  shook  the  winnow- 
cloth  three  times,  when  a  deep  voice  from  behind  it  asked, 
"  Quisvenit?  "Introibo  ad  altar e  £>ei,"  replied  the  priest, 
who  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than  the  cloth  was 
partially  removed,  and  a  voice  exclaimed,  "  Bcnedicite, 
dilecte  f rater ;  be  at  us  qui  re  nit  in  nomine  Domini  et  sacro- 
sanctcE  Ecclesiaz. ' ' 

Reilly  and  his  companion  then  entered  the  cave,  which 
they  had  no  sooner  done  than  the  former  was  seized  with  a 
degree  of  wonder,  astonishment,  and  awe,  such  as  he  had 
never  experienced  in  his  life  before.  The  whole  cavern  was 
one  flashing  scene  of  light  and  beauty,  and  reminded  him  of 
the  gorgeous  descriptions  that  were  to  be  found  in  Arabian 
literature,  or  the  brilliancy  of  the  fairy  palaces  as  he  had 
beard  of  them  in  the  mellow  legends  of  his  own  country. 
From  the  roof  depended  gorgeous  and  immense  stalactites, 
some  of  them  reaching  half  way  to  the  earth,  and  others  of 
them  resting  upon  the  earth  itself.  Several  torches,  com- 
posed of  dried  bog  fir,  threw  their  strong  light  among  them 
with  such  effect  that  the  eye  became  not  only  dazzled  but 
fatigued  and  overcome  by  the  radiance  of  a  scene  so  un- 
usual. In  fact,  the  whole  scene  appeared  to  be  out  of,  or 
beyond,  nature.  There  were  about  fifteen  individuals  pres- 
ent, most  of  them  in  odd  and  peculiar  disguises,  which  gave 
them  a  grotesque  and  supernatural  appearance,  as  they 
passed  about  with   their  strong  torches — some  bright  and 


158  WILLY  REILLY. 

some  flashing  red  ;  and  as  the  light  of  either  one  or  other 
fell  upon  the  stalactites,  giving  them  a  hue  of  singular  bril- 
liancy or  deep  purple,  Reilly  could  not  utter  a  word.  The 
costumes  of  the  individuals  about  him  were  so  strange  and 
varied  that  he  knew  not  what  to  think.  Some  were  in  the 
dress  of  clergymen,  others  in  that  of  ill-clad  peasants,  and 
nearly  one  third  of  them  in  the  garb  of  mendicants,  who, 
from  their  careworn  faces,  appeared  to  have  suffered  se- 
verely from  the  persecution  of  the  times.  In  a  few  min- 
utes, however,  about  half  a  dozen  diminutive  beings  made 
their  appearance,  busied,  as  far  as  he  could  guess,  in  em- 
ployments, which  his  amazement  at  the  whole  spectacle,  un- 
prepared as  he  was  for  it,  prevented  him  from  understand- 
ing. If  he  had  been  a  man  of  weak  or  superstitious  mind, 
unacquainted  with  life  and  the  world,  it  is  impossible  to 
say  what  he  might  have  imagined.  Independently  of  this — 
strong-minded  as  he  was — the  impression  made  upon  him 
by  the  elf-like  sprites  that  ran  about  so  busily,  almost  in- 
duced him,  for  a  few  moments,  to  surrender  to  the  illusion 
that  he  stood  among  individuals  who  had  little  or  no  natu- 
ral connection  with  man  or  the  external  world  which  he  in- 
habited. Reflection,  however,  and  the  state  of  the  country, 
came  to  his  aid,  and  he  reasonably  inferred  that  the  cavern 
in  which  he  stood  was  a  place  of  concealment  for  those  un- 
fortunate individuals  who,  like  himself,  felt  it  necessary  to 
evade  the  vengeance  of  the  laws. 

Whilst  Reilly  was  absorbed  in  the  novelty  and  excitement  of 
this  strange  and  all  but  supernatural  spectacle,  the  priest 
held  a  short  conversation,  at  some  distance  from  him,  with 
the  strange  figures  which  had  surprised  him  so  much. 
Whenever  he  felt  himself  enabled  to  take  his  eyes  from  the 
splendor  and  magnificence  of  all  he  saw  around  him,  to  fol- 
low the  motions  of  Father  Maguire,  he  could  observe  that 
that  gentleman,  from  the  peculiar  vehemence  of  his  attitudes 
and  the  evident  rapidity  of  his  language,  had  made  either 
himself  or  his  presence  there  the  topic  of  very  earnest  dis- 
cussion. It  fact  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  priest,  from 
whatever  cause,  appeared  to  be  rather  hard  set  to  defend 
him  and  to  justify  his  presence  among  them.  A  tall,  stern- 
looking  man,  with  a  lofty  forehead  and  pale  ascetic  features 
— from  which  all  the  genial  impulses  of  humanity,  that  had 
once  characterized  them,  seemed  almost  to  have  been  ban- 


WILLY  RELLLY.  159 

ished  by  the  spirit  of  relentless  persecution — appeared  to 
bear  hard  upon  him,  whatever  the  charge  might  be,  and  by 
the  severity  of  his  manner  and  the  solemn  but  unyielding 
emphasis  of  his  attitudes,  he  seemed  to  have  wrought  him- 
self into  a  state  of  deep  indignation.  But  as  it  is  better 
that  our  readers  should  be  made  acquainted  with  the  topic 
of  their  discussion,  rather  than  their  attitudes,  we  think  it 
necessary  to  commence  it  in  a  new  chapter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SCENES    THAT    TOOK    PLACE    IN    THE    MOUNTAIN    CAVE. 

"T  WILL  not  hear  your  apology,  brother,"  said  the  tall 
X  man  with  the  stern  voice  ;  "  your  conduct,  knowing 
our  position,  and  the  state  of  this  unhappy  and  persecuted 
country,  is  not  only  indiscreet,  but  foolish,  indefensible, 
mad.  Here  is  a  young  man  attached — may  God  pardon 
him — to  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  persecuting  here- 
tics in  the  kingdom.  She  is  beautiful,  by  every  report  that 
we  have  heard  of  her,  even  as  an  angel  ;  but  reflect  that  she 
is  an  heiress — the  inheritress  of  immense  property — and  that, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  the  temptations  are  a  thousand  to  one 
against  him.  He  will  yield,  I  tell  you,  to  the  heretic  syren  ; 
and  as  a  passport  to  her  father's  favor  and  her  affection, 
he  will,  like  too  many  of  his  class,  abandon  the  faith  of  his 
ancestors,  and  become  an  apostate,  for  the  sake  of  wealth 
and  sensual  affection." 

"  I  question,  my  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "  whether  it  is 
consistent  with  Christian  charity  to  impute  motives  of  such 
heinous  guilt,  when  we  are  not  in  a  condition  to  bear  out 
our  suspicions.  The  character  of  this  young  gentleman  as 
a  Catholic  is  firm  and  faithful,  and  I  will  stake  my  life  upon 
his  truth  and  attachment  to  our  Church." 

"  You  know  him  not,  father,"  replied  the  bishop,  for  such 
lie  was  ;  "  I  tell  you,  and  I  speak  from  better  information 
than  you  possess,  that  he  is  already  suspected.  What  has 
been  his  conduct  ?  He  has  associated  himself  more  with 
Protestants   than  with   those  of  his   own  Church  :    he  has 


160  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

dined  with  them,  partaken  of  their  hospitality,  joined  in 
their  amusements,  slept  in  their  houses,  and  been  with  them 
as  a  familiar  friend  and  boon  companion.  I  see,  father, 
what  the  result  will  necessarily  be  ;  first  an  apostate — next, 
an  informer — and,  lastly,  a  persecutor  ;  and  all  for  the  sake 
of  wealth  and  the  seductive  charms  of  a  rich  heiress.  I  say, 
then,  that  deep  in  this  cold  cavern  shall  be  his  grave,  rather 
than  have  an  opportunity  of  betraying  the  shepherds  of 
Christ's  persecuted  flock,  and  of  hunting  them  into  the  cav- 
erns of  the  earth  like  beasts  of  prey.  Our  retreat  here  is 
known  only  to  those  who,  for  the  sake  of  truth  and  their 
own  lives,  will  never  disclose  the  knowledge  of  it,  bound  as 
they  are,  in  addition  to  this,  by  an  oath  of  the  deepest  and 
most  dreadful  solemnity — an  oath  the  violation  of  which 
would  constitute  a  fearful  sacrilege  in  the  eye  of  God.  As 
for  these  orphans,  whose  parents  wrere  victims  to  the  cruel 
laws  that  are  grinding  us,  I  have  so  trained  and  indoctrinated 
them  into  a  knowledge  of  their  creed,  and  a  sense  of  their 
duty,  that  they  are  thoroughly  trustworthy.  On  this  very 
day  I  administered  to  them  the  sacrament  of  confirmation. 
No,  brother,  we  cannot  sacrifice  the  interests  and  wel- 
fare of  our  holy  Church  to  the  safety  of  a  single  life — to 
the  safety  of  a  person  who  I  foresee  will  be  certain  to  betray 
us." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "  I  humbly  admit  your 
authority  and  superior  sanctity,  for  in  what  does  your  pre- 
cious life  fall  short  of  martyrdom  but  by  one  step  to  the 
elevation  which  leads  to  glory  ?  I  mean  the  surrendering 
of  that  life  for  the  true  faith.  I  feel,  my  lord,  that  in  your 
presence  I  am  nothing  ;  still,  in  our  holy  Church  there  is 
the  humble  as  well  as  the  exalted,  and  your  lordship  will 
admit  that  the  gradations  of  piety,  and  the  dispensations  of 
the  higher  and  the  lower  gifts,  proceed  not  only  from  the 
wisdom  of  God  but  from  the  necessities  of  man." 

"I  do  not  properly  understand  you,  father,"  said  the 
bishop  in  a  voice  whose  stern  tones  were  mingled  with 
something  like  contempt. 

"  I  beg  your  lordship  to  hear  me,"  proceeded  Father 
Maguire.  "You  say  that  Reilly  has  associated  more  fre- 
quently with  Protestants  than  he  has  with  persons  of  our 
own  religion.  That  may  be  true,  and  I  grant  that  it  is  so  ; 
but,  my  lord,  are  you  aware  that  he  has  exercised  the  in  flu- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  161 

ence  which  he  has  possessed  over  them  for  the  protection 
and  advantage  and  safety  of  his  Catholic  friends  and  neigh- 
bors, to  the  very  utmost  of  his  ability,  and  frequently  with 
success  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  they  obliged  him  because  they  calculated  upon 
his  accession  to  their  creed  and  principles." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  priest  with  firmness,  "  I  am  an 
humble  but  independent  man  ;  if  humanity  and  generosity, 
exercised  as  I  have  seen  them  this  night,  guided  and  di- 
rected by  the  spirit  of  peace,  and  of  the  word  of  God  itself, 
can  afford  your  lordship  a  guarantee  of  the  high  and  Chris- 
tian principles  by  which  this  young  man's  heart  is  actuated, 
then  I  may  with  confidence  recommend  him  to  your  clem- 
ency." 

"  What  would  you  say  ?"  asked  the  bishop. 

"  My  lord,  he  was  the  principal  means  of  saving  the  lives 
of  six  Protestants — heretics,  I  mean — from  being  cut  off  in 
their  iniquities  and  sins  this  night." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?"  replied  the  stern  bishop  ;  "  ex- 
plain yourself  !" 

The  good  priest  then  gave  a  succinct  account  of  the  cir- 
cumstances with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted  ; 
and,  after  having  finished  his  brief  narrative,  the  unfortunate 
man  perceived  that,  instead  of  having  rendered  Reilly  a  ser- 
vice, he  had  strengthened  the  suspicions  of  the  prelate 
against  him. 

"  So  !"  said  the  bishop,  "  you  advance  the  history  of  this 
dastardly  conduct  as  an  argument  in  his  favor  !" 

As  he  uttered  these  word6,  his  eyes,  which  had  actually 
become  bloodshot,  blazed  again  ;  his  breath  went  and 
came  strongly,  and  he  ground  his  teeth  with  rage. 

Father  Maguire,  and  those  who  were  present,  looked  at 
each  other  with  eyes  in  which  might  be  read  an  expression 
of  deep  sorrow  and  compassion.  At  length  a  mild-looking, 
pale-faced  man,  with  a  clear,  benignant  eye,  approached  him, 
and  laying  his  hand  in  a  gentle  manner  upon  his  arm,  said, 
"  Pray,  my  dear  lord,  let  me  entreat  your  lordship  to  re- 
member the  precepts  of  our  great  Master  :  '  Love  your 
enemies  ;  bless  them  that  curse  you  ;  do  good  to  them  that 
hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  that  despitefully  use  you,  and 
persecute  you.'  And  surely,  my  lord,  no  one  knows  better 
than  you  do  that  this  is  the  spirit  of  our  religion,  and  that 


102  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

whenever  it  is  violated  the  fault  is  not  that  of  the  creed,  but 
the  man." 

11  Under  any  circumstances,"  said  the  bishop,  declining 
to  reply  to  this,  and  placing  his  open  hand  across  his  fore- 
head, as  if  he  felt  confusion  or  pain — "  under  any  circum- 
stances, this  person  must  take  the  oath  of  secrecy  with  re- 
spect to  the  existence  of  this  cave.     Call  him  up. ' ' 

Reilly,  as  we  have  said,  saw  at  once  that  an  angry  discus- 
sion had  taken  place,  and  felt  all  but  certain  that  he  was 
himself  involved  in  it.  The  priest,  in  obedience  to  the  wish 
expressed  by  the  bishop,  went  down  to  where  he  stood,  and 
whispering  to  him,  said  : 

"  Salvation  to  me,  but  I  had  a  hard  battle  for  you.  I 
fought,  however,  like  a  trump.  The  strange,  and — ahem — 
kind  of  man  you  are  called  upon  to  meet  now  is  one  of  our 
bishops — but  don't  you  pretend  to  know  that— 'he  has  heard 
of  your  love  for  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  and  of  her  love  for  you 
— be  easy  now — not  a  thing  it  will  be  but  the  meeting  of  two 
thunderbolts  between  you — and  he's  afraid  you'll  be  deluded 
by  her  charms — turn  apostate  on  our  hands — and  that  the 
first  thing  you're  likely  to  do,  when  you  get  out  of  this  sub- 
terranean palace  of  ours,  will  be  to  betray  its  existence  to 
the  heretics.  I  have  now  put  you  on  your  guard,  so  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  ;  be  mild  as  mother's  milk.  But  if  you  '  my 
lord  '  him,  I'm  dished  as  a  traitor  beyond  redemption." 

Now,  if  the  simple-hearted  priest  had  been  tempted  by 
the  enemy  himself  to  place  these  two  men  in  a  position 
where  a  battle-royal  between  them  was  most  likely  to  ensue, 
he  could  not  have  taken  a  more  successful  course  for  that 
object.  Reilly,  the  firm,  the  high-minded,  the  honorable, 
and,  though  last  not  least,  the  most  indignant  at  any  impu- 
tation against  his  integrity,  now  accompanied  the  priest  in  a 
state  of  indignation  that  was  nearly  a  match  for  that  of  the 
bishop. 

11  This  is  Mr.  Reilly,  gentlemen  ;  a  firm  and  an  honest 
Catholic,  who,  like  ourselves,  is  suffering  for  his  religion." 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  bishop,  "it  is  good  to  suffer  for 
our  religion." 

"It  is  our  duty,"  replied  Reilly,  "  when  we  are  called 
upon  to  do  so  ;  but  for  my  part,  I  must  confess,  I  have  no 
relish  whatsoever  for  the  honors  of  martyrdom.  I  would 
rather  aid  it  and  assist  it  than  suffer  for  it." 


WILLY  REILLY.  163 

The  bishop  gave  a  stern  look  at  his  friends,  as  much  as  to 
say  :  "  You  hear  !  incipient  heresy  and  treachery  at  the 
first  step." 

"  He's  more  mad  than  the  bishop,"  thought  Father  Ma- 
guire  ;  "in  God's  name  what  will  come  next,  I  wonder? 
Reilly's  blood,  somehow,  is  up  ;  and  there  they  are  looking 
at  each  other,  like  a  pair  o'  game  cocks,  with  their  necks 
stretched  out  in  a  cockpit — when  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  go  to 
see  them — ready  to  dash  upon  one  another." 

"Are  you  not  now  suffering  for  your  religion?"  asked 
the  prelate. 

"  No,"  replied  Reilly,  "it  is  not  for  the  sake  of  my  re- 
ligion that  I  have  suffered  any  thing.  Religion  is  made  only 
a  pretext  for  it  ;  but  it  is  not,  in  truth,  on  that  account  that 
I  have  been  persecuted." 

"  Pray,  then,  sir,  may  I  inquire  the  cause  of  your  perse- 
cution ?" 

"  You  may,"  replied  Reilly,  "  but  I  shall  decline  to  an- 
swer you.  It  comes  not  within  your  jurisdiction,  but  is  a 
matter  altogether  personal  to  myself,  and  with  which  you 
can  have  no  concern." 

Here  a  groan  from  the  priest,  which  he  could  not  sup- 
press, was  shivered  off,  by  a  tremendous  effort,  into  a  series 
of  broken  coughs,  got  up  in  order  to  conceal  his  alarm  at 
the  fatal  progress  which  Reilly,  he  thought,  was  uncon- 
sciously making  to  his  own  ruin. 

"  Troth,"  thought  he,  "  the  soldiers  were  nothing  at  all 
to  what  this  will  be.  There  his  friends  would  have  found 
the  body  and  given  him  a  decent  burial  ;  but  here  neither 
friend  nor  fellow  will  know  where  to  look  for  him.  I  was 
almost  the  first  man  that  took  the  oath  to  keep  the  existence 
of  this  place  secret  from  all  unless  those  that  were  suffering 
for  their  religion  ;  and  now,  by  denying  that,  he  has  me  in 
the  trap  along  with  himself." 

A  second  groan,  shaken  out  of  its  continuity  into  another 
comical  shower  of  fragmental  coughs,  closed  this  dreary  but 
silent  soliloquy. 

The  bishop  proceeded  :  "  You  have  been  inveigled,  young 
man,  by  the  charms  of  a  deceitful  and  heretical  syren,  for 
the  purpose  of  alienating  you  from  the  creed  of  your  fore- 
fathers." 

"  It  is  false,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  false,  if  it  proceeded  from 


164  WILLY  REILL  V. 

the  lips  of  the  Pope  himself  ;  and  if  his  lips  uttered  to  me 
what  you  now  have  done,  I  would  (ling  the  falsehood  in  his 
teeth,  as  I  do  now  in  yours — yes,  if  my  life  should  pay  the 
forfeit  of  it.  What  have  you  to  do  with  my  private  con- 
cerns ?" 

Reilly's  indignant  and  impetuous  reply  to  the  prelate 
struck  all  who  heard  it  with  dismay,  and  also  with  horror, 
when  they  bethought  themselves  of  the  consequences. 

'*  You  are  a  heretic  at  heart,"  said  the  other,  knitting  his 
brows  ;  "  from  your  own  language  you  stand  confessed — a 
heretic." 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  Reilly,  "  by  what  right  or  authority 
you  adopt  this  ungentlemanly  and  illiberal  conduct  towards 
me  ;  but  so  long  as  your  language  applies  only  to  myself  and 
my  religion,  I  shall  answer  you  in  a  different  spirit.  In  the 
first  place,  then,  you  are  grievously  mistaken  in  supposing  me 
to  be  a  heretic.  I  am  true  and  faithful  to  my  creed,  and 
will  live  and"  die  in  it. ' ' 

Father  Maguire  felt  relieved,  and  breathed  more  freely  , 
a  groan  was  coming,  but  it  ended  in  a      hem." 

"Before  we  proceed  any  farther,  sir,"  said  this  strange 
man,  "  you  must  take  an  oath." 

"  For  what  purpose,  sir  ?"  inquired  Reilly. 

"  An  oath  of  secrecy  as  to  the  existence  of  this  place  of 
our  retreat.  There  are  at  present  here  some  of  the — "  he 
checked  himself,  as  if  afraid  to  proceed  farther.  "  In  fact, 
every  man  who  is  admitted  amongst  us  must  take  the  oath." 

Reilly  looked  at  him  with  indignation.  ' '  Surely, ' '  thought 
he  to  himself,  "  this  man  must  be  mad  ;  his  looks  are  wild, 
and  the  fire  of  insanity  is  in  his  eyes  ;  if  not,  he  is  nothing 
less  than  an  incarnation  of  ecclesiastical  bigotry  and  folly. 
The  man  must  be  mad,  or  worse."  At  length  he  addressed 
him. 

"You  doubt  my  integrity  and  my  honor,  then,"  he  re- 
plied haughtily. 

"  We  doubt  every  man  until  he  is  bound  by  his  oath." 

"  You  must  continue  to  doubt  me,  then,"  replied  Reilly  ; 
"  for,  most  assuredly,  I  will  not  take  it." 

"  You  must  take  it,  sir,"  said  the  other,  "  or  you  never 
leave  the  cavern  which  covers  you,"  and  his  eyes  once  more 
blazed  as  he  uttered  the  words. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Reilly,  "  there  appear  to  be  fifteen  or 


WILLY  I? LILLY.  165 

sixteen  of  you  present  :  may  I  be  permitted  to  ask  why  you 
suffer  this  unhappy  man  to  be  at  large  ?' ' 

"  Will  you  take  the  oath,  sir  ?"  persisted  the  insane  bishop 
in  a  voice  of  thunder — "  heretic  and  devil,  will  you  take  the 
oath  ?" 

"  Unquestionably  not.  I  will  never  take  any  oath  that 
would  imply  want  of  honor  in  myself.  Cease,  then,  to 
trouble  me  with  it.     I  shall  not  take  it." 

This  last  reply  affected  the  bishop's  reason  so  deeply  that 
he  looked  about  him  strangely,  and  exclaimed,  "  We  are  lost 
and  betrayed.  But  here  are  angels — I  see  them,  and  will 
join  in  their  blessed  society,"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  rushed  to- 
wards the  stalactites  in  a  manner  somewhat  wild  and  violent, 
so  much  so,  indeed,  that  from  an  apprehension  of  his  re- 
ceiving injury  in  some  of  the  dark  interstices  among  them, 
they  found  it  necessary,  for  his  sake,  to  grapple  with  him 
for  a  few  moments. 

But,  alas  !  they  had  very  little  indeed  to  grapple  with. 
The  man  was  but  a  shadow,  and  they  found  him  in  their 
hands  as  feeble  as  a  child.  He  made  no  resistance,  but 
suffered  himself  to  be  managed  precisely  as  they  wished. 
Two  of  the  persons  present  took  charge  of  him,  one  sitting 
on  each  side  of  him.  Reilly,  who  looked  on  with  amazement, 
now  strongly  blended  with  pity — for  the  malady  of  the  un- 
happy ecclesiastic  could  no  longer  be  mistaken — Reilly,  we 
say,  was  addressed  by  an  intelligent-looking  individual,  with 
some  portion  of  the  clerical  costume  about  him. 

"  Alas  !  sir,"  said  he,  "  it  was  not  too  much  learning,  but 
too  much  persecution,  that  has  made  him  mad.  That  and 
the  ascetic  habits  of  his  life  have  clouded  or  destroyed  a 
great  intellect  and  a  good  heart.  He  has  eaten  only  one 
sparing  meal  a  day  during  the  last  month  ;  and  though  se- 
vere and  self-denying  to  himself,  he  was,  until  the  last  week 
or  so,  like  a  father,  and  an  indulgent  one,  to  us  all." 

At  this  moment  the  pale,  mild-looking  clergyman,  to 
whom  we  have  alluded,  went  over  to  where  the  bishop  sat, 
and  throwing  himself  upon  his  bosom,  burst  into  tears.  The 
sorrow  indeed  became  infectious,  and  in  a  few  minutes  there 
were  not  many  dry  eyes  around  him.  Father  Macguire, 
who  was  ignorant  of  the  progressive  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  him  since  his  last  visit  to  the  cave,  now  wept  like 
a    child,   and  Reilly  himself   experienced    something    that 


166  WILLY   REILLY. 

amounted  to  remorse,  when  he  reflected  on  the  irreverent 
tone  of  voice  in  which  he  had  replied  to  him. 

The  paroxysm,  however,  appeared  to  have  passed  away  ; 
he  was  quite  feeble,  but  not  properly  collected,  though  calm 
and  quiet.  After  a  little  time  he  requested  to  be  put  to 
bed.  And  this  leads  us  to  the  description  of  another  portion 
of  the  cave  to  which  we  have  not  yet  referred.  At  the 
upper  end  of  the  stalactite  apartment,  which  we  have  already 
described,  there  was  a  large  projection  of  rock,  which  nearly 
divided  it  from  the  other,  and  which  discharged  the  office  of 
a  wall,  or  partition,  between  the  two  apartments.  Here 
there  was  a  good  fire  kept,  but  only  during  the  hours  of 
night,  inasmuch  as  the  smoke  which  issued  from  a  rent  or 
cleft  in  the  top  of  this  apartment  would  have  discovered 
them  by  day.  Through  this  slight  chasm,  which  was  strictly 
concealed,  they  received  provisions,  water,  and  fuel.  In 
fact,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  whole  cave  had  been  expressly 
designed  for  the  purpose  to  which  it  was  then  applied,  or,  at 
least,  for  some  one  of  a  similar  nature. 

On  entering  this,  Reilly  found  a  good  fire,  on  which  was 
placed  a  large  pot  with  a  mess  in  it,  which  emitted  a  very 
savory  odor.  Around  the  sides,  or  walls  of  this  rock,  were 
at  least  a  score  of  heather  shake-down  beds,  the  fragrance  of 
which  was  delicious.  Pots,  pans,  and  other  simple  culinary 
articles  were  there,  with  a  tolerable  stock  of  provisions,  not 
omitting  a  good-sized  keg  of  mountain  dew,  which  their  se- 
cluded position,  the  dampness  of  the  place,  and  their  ab- 
sence from  free  air,  rendered  very  necessary  and  gratifying. 

"  Here  !"  exclaimed  Father  Magtiire,  after  the  feeble 
prelate  had  been  assisted  to  this  recess,  "  here,  now,  put 
his  lordship  to  bed  ;  I  have  tossed  it  up  for  him  in  great 
style  !  I  assure  you,  my  dear  friends,  it's  a  shake-down  fit 
for  a  prince  ! — and  better  than  most  of  the  thieves  deserve. 
What  bed  of  down  ever  had  the  sweet  fragrance  this  flowery 
heather  sends  forth  ?  Here,  my  lord — easy,  now — lay  him 
down  gently,  just  as  a  mother  would  her  sleeping  child — for, 
indeed,  he  is  a  child,"  he  whispered,  "and  as  weak  as  a 
child  ;  but  a  sound  sleep  will  do  him' good,  and  he'll  be  a 
new  man  in  the  morning,  please  God." 

Upon  this  rough,  but  wholesome  and  aromatic  couch,  the 
exhausted  prelate  was  placed,  where  lie  had  not  been  many 
minutes  until  he  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,    a  fact  which 


WILLY  REILLY.  167 

gratified  them  very  much,  for  they  assured  Reilly  and  the 
priest  that  he  had  slept  but  a  few  hours  each  night  during 
the  last  week,  and  that  such  slumber  as  he  did  get  was  fever- 
ish and  unquiet. 

Our  good-humored  friend,  however,  was  now  cordially 
welcomed  by  these  unfortunate  ecclesiastics,  for  such,  in 
fact,  the  majority  of  them  were.  His  presence  seemed  to 
them  like  a  ray  of  light  from  the  sun.  His  good  humor, 
his  excellent  spirits,  which  nothing  could  repress,  and  his 
drollery  kept  them  alive,  and  nothing  was  so  much  regretted 
by  them  as  his  temporary  absences  from  time  to  time  ;  for, 
in  truth,  he  was  their  messenger,  their  steward,  and  their 
newsman — in  fact,  the  only  link  that  connected  them  with 
external  life,  and  the  ongoings  of  the  world  abroad.  The 
bed  in  which  the  bishop  now  slept  was  in  a  distant  corner 
of  this  inner  apartment,  or  dormitory,  as  it  might  be  termed, 
because  the  situation  was  higher  and  drier,  and  consequently 
more  healthy,  as  a  sleeping-place,  than  any  other  which  the 
rude  apartment  afforded.  The  fire  on  which  the  large  pot 
simmered  was  at  least  a  distance  of  twenty-five  yards  from 
his  bed,  so  that  they  could  indulge  in  conversation  without 
much  risk  of  disturbing  him. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Reilly  and  his  friend  Father 
Maguire  felt,  by  this  time,  a  tolerably  strong  relish  for 
something  in  the  shape  of  sustenance — a  relish  which  was  ex- 
ceedingly sharpened  by  the  savory  smell  sent  forth  through- 
out the  apartment  by  the  contents  of  whatsoever  was  con- 
tained in  the  immense  pot. 

"  My  dear  brethren,"  said  the  priest,  "  let  us  consider 
this  cavern  as  a  rich  monastery  ;  such,  alas  !  as  existed  in 
the  good  days  of  old,  when  the  larder  and  refectory  were  a 
credit  to  religion  and  a  relief  to  the  destitute,  but  which, 
alas  ! — and  alas  !  again — we  can  only  think  of  as  a — in  the 
meantime,  I  can  stand  this  no  longer.  If  I  possess  judg- 
ment or  penetration  in  re  cnlinaria,  I  am  of  opinion,"  he 
added  (stirring  up  the  contents  of  it),  "  that  it  is  fit  to  be 
operated  on  ;  so,  in  God's  name,  let  us  have  at  it." 

In  a  few  minutes  two  or  three  immense  pewter  dishes 
were  heaped  with  a  stew  made  up  of  mutton,  bacon,  hung 
beef,  onions,  and  potatoes,  forming  indeed  a  most  delicious 
mess  for  any  man,  much  less  the  miserable  men  who  were 
making  it  disappear  so  rapidly. 


1 63  WILL  Y  REILL  V. 

Reilly,  the  very  picture  of  health,  after  maintaining  a  pace 
inferior  to  that  of  none,  although  there  were  decidedly  some 
handy  workmen  there,  now  was  forced  to  pull  up  and  halt. 
In  the  meantime  some  slow  but  steady  operations  went  on 
with  a  perseverance  that  was  highly  creditable  ;  and  it  was 
now  that,  having  a  little  agreeable  leisure  to  observe  and 
look  about  him,  he  began  to  examine  the  extraordinary  cos- 
tumes of  the  incongruous  society  in  which,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, he  found  himself  a  party.  We  must,  however,  first 
account  for  the  oddness  and  incongruity  of  the  apparent 
characters  which  they  were  forced  to  assume. 

At  this  period  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  were  indeed  fright- 
fully oppressed.  A  proclamation  had  recently  been  issued 
by  the  Government,  who  dreaded,  or  pretended  to  dread,  an 
insurrection — by  which  document  convents  and  monasteries 
were  suppressed — rewards  offered  for  the  detection  and  ap- 
prehension of  ecclesiastics,  and  for  the  punishment  of  such 
humane  magistrates  as  were  reluctant  to  enforce  laws  so  un- 
sparing and  oppressive.  Increased  rewards  were  also 
offered  to  spies  and  informers,  with  whom  the  country  un- 
fortunately abounded.  A  general  disarming  of  all  Catholics 
took  place  ;  domiciliary  visits  were  made  in  quest  of  bishops, 
priests,  and  friars,  and  all  the  chapels  in  the  country  were 
shut  up.  Many  of  the  clergy  flew  to  the  metropolis,  where 
they  imagined  they  might  be  more  safe,  and  a  vast  number 
to  caverns  and  mountains,  in  order  to  avoid  the  common 
danger,  and  especially  from  a  wholesome  terror  of  that  class 
of  men  called  priest-hunters.  The  Catholic  peasantry  hav- 
ing discovered  their  clergy  in  these  wild  retreats,  flocked  to 
them  on  Sundays  and  festivals,  in  order  to  join  in  private — 
not  public — worship,  and  to  partake  of  the  rites  and  sacra- 
ments of  their  Church. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  country  at  the  period  when  the 
unfortunate  men  whom  we  are  about  to  describe  were  pent 
up  in  this  newly  discovered  cavern. 

Now,  Reilly  himself  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  all  this, 
and  knew  very  well  that  these  unhappy  men,  having  been 
frequently  compelled  to  put  on  the  first  disguise  that  came 
to  hand,  had  not  means,  nor  indeed  disposition,  to  change 
these  disguises,  unless  at  the  risk  of  being  recognized,  taken 
into  custody,  and  surrendered  to  the  mercy  of  the  law. 

When  their  savory  meal  was  concluded,  Father  Maguire, 


WILLY  REILLY.  169 

who  never  forgot  any  duty  connected  with  his  position — be 
that  where  it  might — now  went  over  to  the  large  pot,  exclaim- 
ing : 

"  It  would  be  too  bad,  my  friends,  to  forget  the  creatures 
here  that  have  been  so  faithful  and  so  steady  to  us.  Poor 
things,  I  could  see,  by  the  way  they  fixed  their  longing  eyes 
upon  us  while  we  were  doing  the  handy-work  at  the  stew, 
that  if  the  matter  had  been  left  to  themselves,  not  a  spoon- 
ful ever  went  into  our  mouths  but  they'd  have  practised  the 
doctrine  of  tithe  upon.  Come,  darlings — here,  now,  is  a  lit- 
tle race  for  you — every  one  of  you  seize  a  spoon,  keep  a 
hospitable  mouth,  and  a  supple  wrist.  These  creatures, 
Mr.  Reilly,  are  so  many  little  brands  plucked  out  of  the 
burning.  They  are  the  children  of  parents  who  suffered  for 
their  faith,  and  were  brought  here  to  avoid  being  put  into 
these  new  traps  for  young  Catholics,  called  Charter  Schools, 
into  which  the  Government  wishes  to  hook  in  our  rising 
generation,  under  pretence  of  supporting  and  educating 
them  ;  but,  in  point  of  fact,  to  alienate  them  from  the  affec- 
tion of  their  parents  and  relations,  and  to  train  them  up  in 
the  State  religion,  poor  things.  At  all  events,  they  are  very 
handy  to  us  here,  for  they  slip  out  by  turns  and  bring  us 
almost  every  thing  we  want — and  not  one  of  them  ever 
opened  his  lips  as  to  the  existence  of  this  spelunca." 

The  meal  of  the  poor  things  was  abundant,  but  they  soon 
gave  over,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  tumbled  themselves 
into  their  heather  beds,  and  were  soon  sunk  in  their  inno- 
cent slumbers. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  that  we  have  eaten  a  better  meal  than 
we  could  expect  in  this  miserable  place,  thanks  to  the  kind- 
ness of  our  faithful  flocks,  what  do  you  think  of  a  sup  of 
what's  in  the  keg  ?  Good  eating  deserves  a  drop  of  mixture 
after  it,  to  aid  in  carrying  on  the  process  of  digestion  ! 
Father  Hennessy,  what  are  you  at  ?"  he  exclaimed,  address- 
ing an  exceedingly  ill-looking  man,  with  heavy  brows  and  a 
sinister  aspect.  "  You  forget,  sir,  that  the  management  of 
the  keg  is  my  duty,  whenever  I  am  here.  You  are  the  only 
person  here  who  violates  our  regulations  in  that  respect. 
Walk  back  and  wait  till  you  are  helped  like  another.  Do 
you  call  that  being  spiritually  inclined  ?  If  so,  there  is  not 
a  doubt  of  it  but  you  ought  to  be  a  bishop  ;  and  if  you  come 
to  that,  I'll  stake  my  credit  on  it  that  you'll  never  let  much 


17°  WILLY  RELLLY. 

wind  into  your  stomach  so  long  as  you  can  get  plenty  of  the 
solids  and  fluids  to  keep  it  out." 

"  I'm  weak  in  the  stomach,"  replied  Hennessy,  with  a 
sensual  grin,  "  and  require  it." 

"But  I  say,"  replied  Father  Maguire,  "that  it  would 
require  stronger  proof  than  any  your  outward  man  presents 
to  confirm  the  truth  of  that.  As  for  bearing  a  load  either  of 
the  liquids  or  solids  aforesaid,  I'll  back  your  bit  of  abdomen 
there  against  those  of  any  three  of  us." 

Cups  and  noggins,  and  an  indescribable  variety  of  small 
vessels  that  were  never  designed  for  drinking,  were  now 
called  into  requisition,  and  a  moderate  portion  of  the  keg 
was  distributed  among  them.  Reilly,  while  enjoying  his 
cup,  which  as  well  as  the  others  he  did  with  a  good  deal  of 
satisfaction,  could  not  help  being  amused  by  the  comical 
peculiarity  of  their  disguises. 

The  sinister- looking  clergyman,  whom  we  have  named 
Hennessy,  subsequently  became  a  spy  and  informer,  and, 
we  may  add,  an  enemy  equally  formidable  and  treacherous 
to  the  Catholics  of  the  time,  in  consequence  of  having  been 
deprived  of  his  clerical  functions  by  his  bishop,  who  could 
not  overlook  his  immoral  and  irregular  conduct.  He  is 
mentioned  by  Matthew  O'Connor,  in  his  "  History  of  the 
Irish  Catholics,"  and  consigned  to  infamy  as  one  of  the 
greatest  scourges,  against  both  the  priesthood  and  the  peo- 
ple, that  ever  disgraced  the  country.  But  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  he  stands  out  in  dark  relief  against  the  great 
body  of  the  Catholic  priests  at  that  period,  whose  firmness, 
patience,  and  fidelity  to  their  trust,  places  them  above  all 
praise  and  all  suspicion.  It  is,  however,  very  reasonable, 
that  men  so  hunted  and  persecuted  should  be  forced,  not 
only  in  defence  of  their  own  lives  and  liberties,  but  also  for 
the  sake  of  their  flocks,  to  assume  such  costumes  as  might 
most  effectually  disguise  them,  so  as  that  they  would  be  able 
still,  even  in  secret  and  by  stealth,  to  administer  the  rites  of 
their  religion  to  the  poor  and  neglected  of  their  own  creed. 
Some  were  dressed  in  common  frieze,  some  in  servants'  cast- 
off  liveries — however  they  came  by  them — and  not  a  few  in 
military  uniform,  that  served,  as  it  were,  to  mark  them 
staunch  supporters  of  the  very  Government  that  persecuted 
them.  A  reverend  archdeacon,  somewhat  comely  and  cor- 
pulent, had,  by  some  means  or  other,  procured  the  garb  of 


WILLY  RELLLY.  171 

a  recruiting  sergeant,  which  fitted  him  so  admirably  that  the 
illusion  was  complete  ;  and,  what  bore  it  out  still  more  forci- 
bly, was  the  presence  of  a  smart-looking  little  friar,  who 
kept  the  sergeant  in  countenance  in  the  uniform  of  a  drum- 
mer. Mass  was  celebrated  every  day,  hymns  were  sung, 
and  prayers  offered  up  to  the  Almighty,  that  it  might  please 
him  to  check  the  flood  of  persecution  which  had  over- 
whelmed or  scattered  them.  Still,  in  the  intervals  of  devo- 
tion, they  indulged  in  that  reasonable  cheerfulness  and  harm- 
less mirth  which  were  necessary  to  support  their  spirits,  de- 
pressed as  they  must  have  been  by  this  dreadful  and  melan- 
choly confinement — a  confinement  where  neither  the  light 
of  the  blessed  sun,  nor  the  fresh  breezes  of  heaven,  nor  the 
air  we  breathe,  in  its  usual  purity,  could  reach  them.  Sir 
Thomas  More  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  however,  were  cheer- 
ful on  the  scaffold  ;  and  even  here,  as  we  have  already  said, 
many  a  rustic  tale  and  legend,  peculiar  to  those  times,  went 
pleasantly  around  ;  many  a  theological  debate  took  place, 
and  many  a  thesis  was  discussed,  in  order  to  enable  the  un- 
happy men  to  pass  away  the  tedious  monotony  of  their  im- 
prisonment in  this  strange  lurking-place.  The  only  man 
who  kept  aloof  and  tcok  no  part  in  these  amusing  recrea- 
tions was  Hennessy,  who  seemed  mcody  and  sullen,  but 
who,  nevertheless,  was  frequently  detected  in  making  stolen 
visits  to  the  barrel. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  however,  the  sight  was  a  melan- 
choly one  ;  and  whatever  disposition  Reilly  felt  to  smile  at 
what  he  saw  and  heard  was  instantly  changed  on  perceiving 
their  unaffected  piety,  which  was  evident  by  their  manner, 
and  a  rude  altar  in  a  remote  end  of  the  cave,  which  was  laid 
out  night  and  day  for  the  purpose  of  celebrating  the  ceremo- 
nies and  mysteries  of  their  Church.  Before  he  went  to  his 
couch  of  heather,  however,  he  called  Father  Maguire  aside, 
and  thus  addressed  him  : 

11  I  have  been  a  good  deal  struck  to-night,  my  friend,  by 
all  that  I  have  witnessed  in  this  singular  retreat.  The  poor 
prelate  I  pity  ;  and  I  regret  I  did  not  understand  him 
sooner.      His  mind,  I  fear,  is  gone." 

"  Why,  I  didn't  understand  him  myself,"  replied  the 
priest  ;  "  because  this  was  the  first  symptom  he  has  shown 
of  any  derangement  in  his  intellect,  otherwise  I  would  no 


1 72  WILLY  REILL  V. 

more  have  contradicted  him  than  I  would  have  cut  my  left 
hand  off." 

"  There  is,  however,  a  man — a  clergyman  here,  called 
Hennessy  ;  who  is  he,  and  what  has  been  his  life  ?" 

"  Why;"  replied  the  other,  "  I  have  heard  nothing  to  his 
disadvantage.  He  is  a  quiet,  and,  it  is  said,  a  pious  man — 
and  I  think  he  is  too.  He  is  naturally  silent,  and  seldom 
takes  any  part  inourconveis  .t:o:i.  He  says,  however,  that  his 
concealment  here  bears  hard  upon  him,  and  is  depressing  his 
spirits  every  day  more  and  more.  The  only  thing  I  ever 
could  observe  in  him  is  what  you  saw  yourself  to-night — a 
slight  relish  for  an  acquaintance  with  the  barrel.  He  some- 
times drains  a  drop — indeed,  sometimes  too  much — out  of 
it,  when  he  gets  our  backs  turned  ;  but  then  he  pleads  low 
spirits  three  or  four  times  a  day — indeed,  so  often  that, 
upon  my  word,  he'll  soon  have  the  barrel  pleading  the  same 
complaint." 

"  Well,"  replied  Reilly,  after  listening  attentively  to  him, 
"  I  desire  you  and  your  friends  to  watch  that  man  closely. 
I  know  something  about' him  ;  and  I  tell  you  that  if  ever  the 
laws  become  more  lenient,  the  moment  this  man  makes  his 
appearance  his  bishop  will  deprive  him  of  all  spiritual  juris- 
diction for  life.  Mark  me  now,  Father  Maguire  ;  if  he 
pleads  any  necessity  for  leaving  this  retreat  and  going 
abroad  again  into  the  world,  don't  let  a  single  individual  of 
you  remain  here  one  hour  after  him.  Provide  for  your  safety 
and  your  shelter  elsewhere  as  well  as  you  can  ;  if  not,  the 
worst  consequences  may — nay,  will  follow." 

The  priest  promised  to  communicate  this  intelligence  to 
his  companions,  one  by  one  ;  after  which,  both  he  and 
Reilly,  feeling  fatigued  and  exhausted  by  what  they  had  un- 
dergone in  the  course  of  the  night,  threw  themselves  each 
upon  his  couch  of  heather,  and  in  a  few  minutes  not  only 
they,  but  all  their  companions,  were  sunk  in  deep  sleep. 


WILLY  R BILLY.  173 

CHAPTER   XI. 

THE    SQUIRE'S    DINNER    AND    KIS    GUESTS. 

WE  now  return  to  Cooleen  Bawn,  who,  after  her  sepa- 
ration from  Reilly,  retired  to  her  own  room,  where 
she  indulged  in  a  paroxysm  of  deep  grief,  in  consequence  of 
her  apprehension  that  she  might  never  see  him  again.  She 
also  calculated  upon  the  certainty  of  being  obliged  to  sus- 
tain a  domestic  warfare  with  her  father,  as  the  result  of  hav- 
ing made  him  the  confidant  of  her  love.  In  this,  however, 
she  was  agreeably  disappointed  ;  for,  on  meeting  him  the 
next  morning,  at  breakfast,  she  was  a  good  deal  surprised  to 
observe  that  he  made  no  allusion  whatsoever  to  the  circum- 
stance— if,  indeed,  an  occasional  muttering  of  some  unintel- 
ligible words,  sotto  voce,  might  not  be  supposed  to  allude  to 
it.  The  truth  was,  the  old  man  found  the  promise  he  had 
made  to  Sir  Robert  one  of  such  difficulty  to  his  testy  and 
violent  disposition,  that  his  language,  and  the  restraint 
which  he  felt  himself  under  the  necessity  of  putting  on  it, 
rendered  his  conversation  rather  ludicrous. 

"  We'll,  Helen,"  he  said,  on  entering  the  breakfast-parlor, 
"  how  did  you  rest  last  night,  my  love?  Rested  sound — 
eh  ?  But  you  look  rather  pale,  darling.  (Hang  the  ras- 
cal !)" 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  slept  as  well  as  usual,  sir.  I  felt 
headache." 

"Ay,  headache — was  it?  (heartache,  rather.  The  vil- 
lain.) Well,  come,  let  me  have  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  mouthful 
of  that  toast." 

"  Will  you  not  have  some  chicken,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear — no  ;  just  what  I  said — a  mouthful  of 
toast,  and  a  cup  of  tea,  with  plenty  of  cream  in  it.  Thank 
you,  love.  (A  good  swing  for  him  will  be  delightful.  I'll 
go  to  see  it.)  Helen,  my  dear,  I'm  going  to  give  a  dinner- 
party next  week.  Of  course  we'll  have  your  future — hem — 
I  mean  we'll  have  Sir  Robert,  and — let  me  see — who  else  ? 
Why,  Oxley,  the  sheriff,  Mr.  Brown,  the  parson — I  wish  he 
didn't  lean  so  much  to  the  cursed  Papists,  though — Mr. 
Hastings,  who  is  tarred  with  the  same  stick,  it  is  whispered. 


174  WILLY  K HILLY. 

Well,  who  n:xt  ?  Lord  Deilmacare,  a  good-natured  jackass 
— a  fellow  who  would  eat  a  jacketful  of  carrion,  if  placed 
before  him,  with  as  much  gout  as  if  it  were  venison.  He 
went  home  one  night,  out  of  this,  with  the  parson's  outside 
coat  and  shovel  hat  upon  him,  and  did  not  return  them  for 
two  days." 

11  Does  this  habit  proceed  from  stupidity,  papa  ?" 

"  Xot  at  all  ;  but  from  mere  carelessness.  The  next  two 
days  he  was  out  with  his  laborers,  and  if  a  cow  or  pig 
chanced — [the  villain  !  we'll  hang  him  to  a  certainty) — 
chanced,  I  say,  to  stray  into  the  field,  he  would  shy  the 
shovel  hat  at  them,  without  remorse.  Oh  !  we  must  have 
him,  by  all  means.  But  who  next?  Sir  Jenkins  J  Oram. 
Give  him  plenty  to  drink,  and  he  is  satisfied." 

"  But  what  are  his  political  principles,  papa  ?" 

"  They  are  to  be  found  in  the  bottle,  Helen,  which  is  the 
only  creed,  political  or  religious,  to  which  I  ever  knew  him 
to  be  attached  ;  and  I  tell  you,  girl,  that  if  every  Protestant 
in  Ireland  were  as  deeply  devoted  to  his  Church  as  he  is  to 
the  bottle,  we  would  soon  be  a  happy  people,  uncorrupted 
by  treacherous  scoundrels,  who  privately  harbor  Papists  and 
foster  Popery  itself.     (The  infernal  scoundrel.)" 

"  But,  papa,"  replied  his  daughter,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  I  think  I  know  some  persons,  who,  although  very 
loud  and  vehement  in  their  outcry  against  Popery,  have, 
nevertheless,  on  more  than  one  or  two  occasions,  harbored 
Papists  in  their  house,  and  concealed  even  priests,  when  the 
minions  of  the  law  were  in  search  of  them." 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  of  this  cursed  crew  of  hollow  Protestants 
that  I  now  speak — ahein — ay — ha — well,  what  the  devil — 
hem.  To  be  sure  I — I — I — but  it  doesn't  signify  ;  we  can't 
be  wise  at  all  times.  But  after  all,  Helen  (she  has  me  there), 
after  all,  I  say,  there  are  some  good  Papists,  and  some  good 
— ahem — priests,  too.  There  now,  I've  got  it  out.  How- 
ever, Helen,  those  foolish  days  are  gone,  and  we  have  noth- 
ing for  it  now  but  to  hunt  Popery  out  of  the  country.  But 
to  proceed  as  to  the  dinner." 

"  I  think  Popery  is  suffering  enough,  sir,  and  more  than 
enough." 

"Ho,  ho,"  he  exclaimed  with  triumph,  "here  comes 
the  next  on  my  list — a  fine  fellow,  who  will  touch  it  up  still 
more  vigorously — I  mean  Captain  Smellpriest. " 


WILLY  REILLY.  175 

"I  have  heard  of  that  inhuman  man,"  replied  Helen  ; 
"  I  wish  you  would  not  ask  him,  papa.  I  am  told  he  equals 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  in  both  cowardice  and  cruelty.  Is 
not  that  a  nickname  he  has  got  in  consequence  of  his  ac- 
tivity in  pursuit  of  the  unfortunate  priests  ?" 

"It's  a  nickname  he  has  given  himself,"  replied  her 
father  ;  "  and  he  has  become  so  proud  of  it  that  he  will 
allow  himself  to  be  called  by  no  other.  He  swears  that  if 
a  priest  gets  on  the  windy  side  of  him,  he  will  scent  him  as 
a  hound  would  a  fox.  Oh  !  by  my  honor,  Smellpriest  must 
be  here.  The  scoundrel  like  Whitecraft  ! — eh — what  am  I 
saying  ?  Smellpriest,  I  say,  first  began  his  career  as  a 
friend  to  the  Papists  ;  he  took  large  tracts  of  land  in 
their  name,  and  even  purchased  a  couple  of  estates  with 
their  money  ;  and  in  due  time,  according  as  the  tide  con- 
tinued to  get  strong  against  them,  he  thought  the  best  plan 
to  cover  his  villany — ahem — his  policy,  I  mean — was  to 
come  out  as  a  fierce  loyalist  ;  and  as  a  mark  of  his  repent- 
ance, he  claimed  the  property,  as  the  real  purchaser,  and 
arrested  those  who  were  fools  enough  to  trust  him." 

"  I  think  I  know  another  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance 
who  holds  property  in  some  similar  trust  for  Papists,"  ob- 
served Helen,  "  but  who  certainly  is  incapable  of  imitating 
the  villany  of  that  most  unprincipled  man." 

"  Come,  come,  Helen  ;  come,  my  girl  ;  tut — ahem  ; 
come,  you  are  getting  into  politics  now,  and  that  will  never 
do.  A  girl  like  you  ought  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  poli- 
tics or  religion." 

"  Religion  !  papa." 

"  Oh — hem — I  don't  mean  exactly  that.  Oh,  no  ;  I  ex- 
cept religion  ;  a  girl  may  be  as  religious  as  she  pleases,  only 
she  must  say  as  little  upon  the  subject  as  possible.  Come, 
another  cup  of  tea,  with  a  little  more  sugar,  for,  I  give  you 
my  honor,  you  did  not  make  the  last  one  of  the  sweetest  ;" 
and  so  saying,  he  put  over  his  cup  with  a  grimace,  which  re- 
sembled that  of  a  man  detected  in  a  bad  action,  instead  of  a 
good  one. 

At  this  moment  John,  the  butler,  came  in  with  a  plate  of 
hot  toast  ;  and,  as  he  was  a  privileged  old  man,  he  ad- 
dressed his  master  without  much  hesitation. 

"  That  was  a  quare  business,"  he  observed,  using  the 
word  quare  as  an  equivocal  one,  until  he  should  see  what 


176  WILLY  REILLY. 

views  of  the  circumstance  his  master  might  take;  "a 
quare  business,  sir,  that  happened  to  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  What  business  do  you  allude  to,  you  old  sinner  ?" 

"  The  burning  of  his  house  and  place,  sir.  All  he  has,  or 
had,  is  in  a  heap  of  ashes." 

Helen  felt  not  for  the  burning,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  features  of  the  old  man,  as  if  the  doom  of  her  life 
depended  on  his  words  ;  whilst  the  paper  on  which  we  write 
is  not  whiter  than  were  her  cheeks. 

"  What — what — how  was  it  ?"  asked  his  master  ;  "  who  did 
it  ? — and  by  whose  authority  was  it  done  ?" 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  his  men  did  it,  sir." 

"  Ay,  but  I  can't  conceive  he  had  any  authority  for  such 
an  act." 

"Wasn't  Mr.  Reilly  an  outlaw,  sir?  Didn't  the  Red 
Rapparee,  who  is  now  a  good  Protestant,  swear  insurrection 
against  him  ?" 

"  The  red  devil,  sirra,"  replied  the  old  squire,  forgetting 
his  animosity  to  Reilly  in  the  atrocity  and  oppression  of  the 
deed — "  the  red  devil,  sirra  !  would  that  justify  such  a  cow- 
ardly scoundrel  as  Sir  Rob — eh  ? — ugh — ugh — ugh — that 
went  against  my  breath,  Helen.  Well,  come  here,  I  say,  you 
old  sinner  ;   they  burned  the  place,  you  say  ?" 

11  Sir  Robert  and  his  men  did,  sir." 

"  I'm  not  doubting  that,  you  old  houseleek.  I  know  Sir 
Robert  too  well — I  know  the  infernal — ahem  ;  a  most  excel- 
lent loyal  gentleman,  with  two  or  three  fine  estates,  both 
here  and  in  England  ;  but  he  prefers  living  here,  for  reasons 
best  known  to  himself  and  me,  and — and  to  somebody  else. 
Well,  they  burned  Reilly  out — but  tell  me  this  ;  did  they 
catch  the  rascal  himself  ?  eh  ?  here's  five  pounds  for  you,  if 
you  can  say  they  have  him  safe." 

11  That's  rather  a  loose  bargain,  your  honor,"  replied  the 
man  with  a  smile  ;  "  for  saying  it  ?•— why,  -what's  to  prevent 
me  from  saying  it,  if  I  wished  ?" 

11  None  of  your  mumping,  you  old  snapdragon  ;  but  tell 
me  the  truth,  have  they  secured  him  hard  and  fast  ?" 

11  No,  sir,  he  escaped  them,  and  as  report  goes  they  know 
nothing  about  him,  except  that  they  haven't  got  him." 

Deep  and  speechless  was  the  agony  in  which  Helen  sat 
during  this  short  dialogue,  her  eyes  having  never  once  been 
withdrawn  from  the  butler's  countenance  ;  but  now  that  she 


WILLY  REILLY.  177 

had  heard  of  her  lover's  personal  safety,  a  thick,  smothered 
sob,  which,  if  it  were  to  kill  her,  she  could  not  repress, 
burst  from  her  bosom..  Unwilling  that  either  her  father  or 
the  servant  should  witness  the  ecstasy  which  she  could  not 
conceal,  and  feeling  that  another  minute  would  disclose  the 
delight  which  convulsed  her  heart  and  frame,  she  arose, 
and,  with  as  much  composure  as  she  could  assume,  went 
slowly  out  of  the  room.  On  entering  her  apartment,  she 
signed  to  her  maid  to  withdraw,  after  which  she  closed  and 
bolted  the  door,  and  wept  bitterly.  The  poor  girl's  emotion, 
in  fact,  was  of  a  twofold  character  ;  she  wept  with  joy  at 
Reilly's  escape  from  the  hands  of  his  cruel  and  relentless 
enemy,  and  with  bitter  grief  at  the  impossibility  which  she 
thought  there  existed  that  he  should  ultimately  be  able  to 
keep  out  of  the  meshes  which  she  knew  Whitecraft  would 
spread  for  him.  The  tears,  however,  which  she  shed  abun- 
dantly, in  due  time  relieved  her,  and  in  the  course  of  an 
hour  or  two  she  was  able  to  appear  as  usual  in  the  family. 

The  reader  may  perceive  that  her  father,  though  of  an 
abrupt  and  cynical  temper,  was  not  a  man  naturally  of  a 
bad  or  unfeeling  heart.  Whatever  mood  of  temper  chanced 
to  be  uppermost  influenced  him  for  the  time  ;  and  indeed  it 
might  be  said  that  one  half  of  his  feelings  were  usually  in  a 
state  of  conflict  with  the  other.  In  matters  of  business  he 
was  the  very  soul  of  integrity  and  honor,  but  in  his  views  of 
public  affairs  he  was  uncertain  and  inconsistent  ;  and  of 
course  his  whole  life,  as  a  magistrate  and  public  man,  was 
a  perpetual  series  of  contradictions.  The  consequence  of 
all  this  was,  that  he  possessed  but  small  influence,  as  arising 
from  his  personal  character  ;  but  not  so  from  his  immense 
property,  as  well  as  from  the  fact  that  he  was  father  to  the 
wealthiest  and  most  beautiful  heiress  in  the  province,  or 
perhaps,  so  far  as  beauty  was  concerned,  in  the  kingdom 
itself. 

At  length  the  day  mentioned  for  the  dinner  arrived,  and, 
at  the  appointed  hour,  so  also  did  the  guests.  There  were 
some  ladies  asked  to  keep  Helen  in  countenance,  but  we 
need  scarcely  say,  that  as  the  list  of  them  was  made  out  by 
her  thoughtless  father,  he  paid,  in  the  selection  of  some  of 
them,  very  little  attention  to  her  feelings.  There  was  the 
sheriff,  Mr.  Oxley,  and  his  lady — the  latter  a  compound  in 
whom  it  was  difficult  to  determine  whether  pride,  vulgarity, 


1/3  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

or  obesity  prevailed.  Where  the  sheriff  had  made  his  cap- 
ture of  her  was  never  properly  known,  as  neither  of  them 
belonged  originally  to  that  .neighborhood  in  which  he  had, 
several  years  ago,  purchased  large  property.  It  was  said  he 
had  got  her  in  London  ;  and  nothing  was  more  certain  than 
that  she  issued  forth  the  English  language  clothed  in  an  in- 
veterate cockney  accent.  She  was  a  high  moralist,  and  a 
merciless  castigator  of  all  females  who  manifested,  or  who 
were  supposed  to  manifest,  even  a  tendency  to  walk  out  of  the 
line  of  her  own  peculiar  theory  on  female  conduct.  Her 
weight  might  be  about  eighteen  stone,  exclusive  of  an  addi- 
tional stone  of  gold  chains  and  bracelets,  in  which  she  moved 
like  a  walking  gibbet,  only  with  the  felon  in  it  ;  and  to 
crown  all,  she  wore  upon  her  mountainous  bosom  a  cameo 
nearly  the  size  of  a  frying-pan.  Sir  Jenkins  Joram,  who 
took  her  down  to  dinner,  declared,  on  feeling  the  size  of  the 
bracelets  which  encircled  her  wrists,  that  he  labored  for  a 
short  time  under  the  impression  that  he  and  she  were  liter- 
ally handcuffed  together  ;  an  impression,  he  added,  from 
which  he  was  soon  relieved  by  the  consoling  reflection  that 
it  was  the  sheriff  himself  whom  the  clergyman  had  sentenced 
to  stand  in  that  pleasant  predicament.  Of  Mrs.  Brown  and 
Mrs.  Hastings  we  have  only  to  say  that  they  were  modest, 
sensible,  unassuming  women,  without  either  parade  or  pre- 
tence, such,  in  fact,  as  you  will  generally  meet  among  our 
well-bred  and  educated  countrywomen.  Lord  Deilmacare 
was  a  widower,  without  family,  and  not  a  marrying  man. 
Indeed,  when  pressed  upon  this  subject,  he  was  never  known 
to  deviate  from  the  one  reply. 

11  Why  don't  you  marry  again,  my  lord  ? — will  you  ever 
marry  ?" 

"  No,  madame,  I  got  enough  of  it,"  a  reply  which,  some- 
how, generally  checked  any  further  inquiry  on  the  subject. 
Between  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Smellpriest  there  subsisted  a 
singular  analogy  with  respect  to  their  conjugal  attachments. 
It  was  hinted  that  her  ladyship,  in  those  secret  but  delicious 
moments  of  matrimonial  felicity  which  make  up  the  sugar- 
candy  morsels  of  domestic  life,  used  to  sit  with  Sir  Jenkins 
for  the  purpose,  by  judicious  exercise,  of  easing,  by  convivial 
exercise,  a  rheumatic  affection  which  she  complained  of  in  her 
right  arm.  There  is  nothing,  however,  so  delightful  as  a  gen- 
eral and  loving  sympathy  between  husband  and  wife  ;  and  here 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  179 

it  was  said  to  exist  in  perfection.  Mrs.  Smellpriest,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  said  to  have  been  equally  attached  to  the 
political  principles  of  the  noble  captain,  and  to  wonder 
why  any  clergyman  should  be  suffered  to  live  in  the  country 
but  those  of  her  own  Church  ;  such  delightful  men,  for  in-g 
stance,  as  their  curate,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong,  who  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  divine  bonfire  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Christian  world.  Such  was  his  zeal  against  Papists,  she 
said,  as  well  as  against  Popery  at  large,  that  she  never 
looked  on  him  without  thinking  that  there  was  a  priest  to  be 
burned.  Indeed  Captain  Smellpriest,  she  added,  was  under 
great  obligations  to  him,  for  no  sooner  had  his  reverence 
heard  of  a  priest  taking  earth  in  the  neighborhood,  than  he 
lost  no  time  in  communicating  the  fact  to  her  husband  ; 
after  which  he  would  kindly  sit  with  and  comfort  her  whilst 
fretting  lest  any  mischief  might  befall  her  dear  captain. 

The  dinner  passed  as  all  dinners  usually  do.  They  hob- 
nobbed, of  course,  and  indulged  in  that  kind  of  promiscuous 
conversation  which  cannot  well  be  reported.  From  a  feel- 
ing of  respect  to  Helen,  no  allusion  was  made  either  to  the 
burning  of  Reilly's  property  or  to  Reilly  personally.  The 
only  person  who  had  any  difficulty  in  avoiding  the  subject 
was  the  old  squire  himself,  who  more  than  once  found  the 
topic  upon  his  lips,  but  with  a  kind  of  short  cough  he  gulped 
it  down,  and  got  rid  of  it  for  the  time.  In  what  manner  he 
might  treat  the  act  itself  was  a  matter  which  excited  a  good 
deal  of  speculation  in  the  minds  of  those  who  were  present. 
He  was  known  to  be  a  man  who,  if  the  whim  seized  him  to 
look  upon  it  as  a  cowardly  and  vindictive  proceeding,  would 
by  no  means  scruple  to  express  his  opinions  strongly  against 
it  ;  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  measured  it  in  connection 
with  his  daughter's  forbidden  attachment  to  Reilly,  he  would, 
of  course,  as  vehemently  express  his  approbation  of  the  out- 
rage. Indeed,  they  were  induced  to  conclude  that  this  latter 
view  of  it  was  that  which  he  was  most  likely  to  take,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  following  proposal,  which,  from  any  other 
man,  would  have  been  an  extraordinary  one  : 

11  Come,  ladies,  before  you  leave  us  we  must  have  one 
toast  ;  and  I  shall  give  it  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  we 
have  any  fair  traitresses  among  us,  or  any  who  are  secretly 
attached  to  Popery  or  Papists." 

The  proposal  was  a  cruel  one,  but  the  squire  was  so  utterly 


i So  WILLY  REILLY. 

destitute  of  consideration  or  delicacy  of  feeling  that  we  do 
not  think  he  ever  once  reflected  upon  the  painful  position  in 
which  it  placed  his  daughter. 

"  Come,"  he  proceeded,  "here  is  prosperity  to  Captain 
Smellpriest  and  priest-hunting  !"  * 

"Asa  Christian  minister,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  "  and  an 
enemy  to  persecution  in  every  sense,  but  especially  to  that 
which  would  punish  any  man  for  the  great  principle  which 
we  ourselves  claim — the  rights  of  conscience — I  decline  to 
drink  the  toast  ;"   and  he  turned  down  his  glass. 

"  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Hastings,  "as  a  Protestant  and  a 
Christian,  refuse  it  on  the  same  principles  ;"  and  he  also 
turned  down  his  glass. 

"  But  you  forget,  gentlemen,"  proceeded  the  squire, 
"  that  I  addressed  myself  principally  to  the  ladies." 

"  But  you  know,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown,  with  a  smile, 
11  that  it  is  quite  unusual  and  out  of  character  for  ladies  to 
drink  toasts  at  all,  especially  those  which  involve  religious 
or  political  opinions.  These,  I  am  sure,  you  know  too 
well,  Mr.  Foliiard,  are  matters  with  which  ladies  have,  and 
ought  to  have,  nothing  to  do.  I  also,  therefore,  on  behalf 
of  our  sex,  decline  to  drink  the  toast  ;  and  I  trust  that  every 
ladv  who  respects  herself  will  turn  down  her  glass  as  I 
do." 

Mrs.  Hastings  and  Helen  immediately  followed  her  ex- 
ample, whilst  at  the  same  time  poor  Helen's  cheeks  and 
neck  were  scarlet. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  good-humoredly,  "  that 
the  sex — at  least  one  half  of  them — are  against  you." 

"  That's  because  they're  Papists  at  heart,"  replied  the 
squire,  laughing. 

*  We  have  been  charged  by  an  able  and  accomplished  writer  with 
an  incapacity  of  describing,  with  truth,  any  state  of  Irish  society 
above  that  of  our  peasantry  :  and  the  toast  proposed  by  the  eccentric 
old  squire  is,  we  presume,  the  chief  ground  upon  which  this  charge  is 
rested.  We  are,  however,  just  as  well  aware  as  our  critic,  that  to 
propose  toasts  before  the  female  portion  of  the  company  leave  the 
dinner-table,  is  altogether  at  variance  wth  the  usages  of  polite  society. 
But  we  really  thought  we  had  guarded  our  readers  against  any  such 
inference  of  our  own  ignorance  by  the  character  which  we  had  drawn 
of  the  squire,  as  well  as  by  the  words  with  which  the  toast  is  intro- 
duced— where  we  said,  "  from  any  other  man  would  have  been  an 
extraordinary  one."     I  may  also  refer  to  Mrs.  Brown's  reply. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  181 

Helen  felt  eased  at  seeing  her  father's  good  humor,  for 
she  now  knew  that  the  proposal  of  the  toast  was  but  a  jest, 
and  did  not  aim  at  any  thing  calculated  to  distress  her  feel- 
ings. 

"  But,  in  the  meantime,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "  I  am 
not  without  support.  Here  is  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Smell- 
priest  and  Mrs.  Oxley — and  they  are  a  host  in  themselves — 
each' of  them  willing  and  ready  to  support  me." 

11  I  don't  see,"  said  Lady  Joram,  "  why  a  lady,  anymore 
than  a  gentleman,  should  refuse  to  drink  a  proper  toast  as 
this  is  ;  Sir  Jenkins  has  not  turned  down  his  glass,  and 
neither  shall  I.  Come,  then,  Mr.  Folliard,  please  to  fill 
mine  ;  I  shall  drink  it  in  a  bumper." 

"  And  I,"  said  Mrs.  Oxley,  "  always  drinks  my  'usband's 
principles.  In  Lunnon,  where  true  'igh  life  is,  ladies  don't 
refuse  to  drink  toasts.  I  know  that  feyther,  both  before  and 
after  his  removal  to  Lunnon,  used  to  make  us  all  drink  the 
'  'Ard  ware  of  Old  Hingland  ' — by  witch,"  she  proceeded, 
correcting  herself  by  a  reproving  glance  from  the  sheriff — 
11  by  witch  he  meant  what  he  called  the  glorious  sinews  of 
the  country  at  large,  lestwise  in  the  manufacturing  districts. 
But  upon  a  subject  like  this" — and  she  looked  with  some- 
thing like  disdain  at  those  who  had  turned  down  their  glasses 
— "  every  lady  as  is  a  lady  ought  to  'ave  no  objection  to 
hexplain  her  principles  by  drinking  the  toast  ;  but  p'raps  it 
ain't  fair  to  press  it  upon  some  of  'em." 

"  Well,  then,"  proceeded  the  squire,  with  a  laugh  that 
seemed  to  have  more  than  mirth  in  it,  "  are  all  the  loyal 
subjects  of  the  crown  ready  ?  Lord  Deilmacare,  your  glass 
is  not  filled  ;  won't  you  drink  it  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  his  lordship  ;  "  I  have  no  hatred 
against  Papists  ;  I  get  my  rent  by  their  labor  ;  but  I  never 
wish  to  spoil  sport — get  along — I'll  do  any  thing." 

With  the  exceptions  already  mentioned,  the  toast  was 
drank  immediately,  after  which  the  ladies  retired  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  squire,  "  fill  your  glasses, 
and  let  us  enjoy  ourselves.  You  have  a  right  to  be  proud 
of  your  wife,  Mr.  Sheriff,  and  you  too,  Sir  Jenkins — for, 
upon  my  soul,  if  it  had  been  his  Majesty's  health,  her  lady- 
ship couldn't  have  honored  it  with  a  fuller  bumper.  And, 
Smellpriest,  your  wife  did  the  thing  handsomely  as  well  as 


1 82  WILLY  RE  ILLY'. 

the  rest.  Upon  my  soul,  you  ought  to  be  happy  men,  with 
three  women  so  deeply  imbued  with  the  true  spirit  of  our 
glorious  Constitution." 

11  Ah,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  you  don't  know 
the  value  of  that  woman.  When  I  return,  for  instance, 
after  a  hunt,  the  first  question  she  puts  to  me  is — Well,  my 
love,  how  many  priests  did  you  catch  to-day  ?  And  out 
comes  Mr.  Strong  with  the  same  question.  Strong,  how- 
ever, between  ourselves,  is  a  goose  ;  he  will  believe  any 
thing,  and  often  sends  me  upon  a  cold  trail.  Now,  I 
pledge  you  my  honor,  gentlemen,  that  this  man,  who  is  all 
zeal,  has  sent  me  out  dozens  of  times,  with  the  strictest  in- 
structions as  to  where  I'd  catch  my  priest  ;  but,  hang  me, 
if  ever  I  caught  a  single  priest  upon  his  instructions  yet  ! 
still,  although  unfortunate  in  this  kind  of  sport,  his  heart  is 
in  the  right  place.  Whitecraft,  my  worthy  brother  sports- 
man, how  does  it  happen  that  Reilly  continues  to  escape 
you?" 

"  Why  does  he  continue  to  escape  yourself,  captain  ?"  re- 
plied the  baronet. 

"  Why,"  said  the  other,  "  because  I  am  more  in  the  ec- 
clesiastical line,  and,  besides,  he  is  considered  to  be,  in  an 
especial  manner,  your  game. 

"  I  will  have  him  yet,  though,"  said  Whitecraft,  "  if  he 
should  assume  as  many  shapes  as  Proteus." 

"  By  the  way,  Whitecraft,"  observed  Folliard,  "  they  tell 
me  you  burned  the  unfor — you  burned  the  scoundrel's  house 
and  offices." 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  present  at  the  bonfire,  sir,"  replied 
his  intended  son-in-law  ;  "it  would  have  done  your  heart 
good." 

11  I  daresay,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  but  still,  what  harm  did 
his  house  and  place  do  you  ?  I  know  the  fellow  is  a  Jesuit, 
a  rebel,  and  an  outlaw — at  least  you  tell  me  so  ;  and  you 
must  know.  But  upon  what  authority  did  you.  burn  the 
rascal  out  ?" 

"As  to  that,"  returned  the  baronet,  "  the  present  laws 
against  Popery  and  the  general  condition  of  the  times  are  a 
sufficient  justification  ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  likely 
to  be  brought  over  the  coals  for  it  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  look 
upon  myself  as  a  man  who,  in  burning  the  villain  out,  have 
rendered  a  very  important  service  to  Government." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  183 

"  I  regret,  Sir  Robert,"  observed  Mr.  Brown,  "  that  you 
should  have  disgraced  yourself  by  such  an  oppressive  act. 
I  know  that  throughout  the  country  your  conduct  to  this 
young  man  is  attributed  to  personal  malice  rather  than  to 
loyalty." 

"  The  country  may  put  what  construction  on  my  conduct 
it  pleases,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  know  I  shall  never  cease  till 
I  hang  him." 

Mr.  Hastings  was  a  man  of  very  few  words  ;  but  he  had 
an  eye  the  expression  of  which  could  not  be  mistaken — keen, 
manly,  and  firm.  He  sat  sipping  his  wine  in  silence,  but 
turned  from  time  to  time  a  glance  upon  the  baronet,  which 
was  not  only  a  searching  one,  but  seemed  to  have  something 
of  triumph  in  it. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Hastings  ?"  asked  Whitecraft ;  "  can 
you  not  praise  a  loyal  subject,  man  ?" 

"  I  say  nothing,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  I  think 
occasionally." 

11  Well,  and  what  do  you  think  occasionally  ?" 

11  Why,  that  the  times  may  change." 

"Whitecraft,"  said  Smellpriest,  "I  work  upon  higher 
principles  than  they  say  you  do.  I  hunt  priests,  no  doubt 
of  it  ;  but  then  I  have  no  personal  malice  against  them  ;  I 
proceed  upon  the  broad  and  general  principle  of  hatred  to 
Popery  :  but,  at  the  same  time,  observe  it  is  not  the  man 
but  the  priest  I  pursue." 

"And  when  you  hang  or  transport  the  priest,  what  be- 
comes of  the  man?"  asked  the  baronet,  with  a  diabolical 
sneer.  "  As  for  me,  Smellpriest,  I  make  no  such  distinc- 
tions ;  they  are  unworthy  of  you,  and  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you 
express  them.     I  say,  the  man." 

"  And  I  say,  the  priest,"  replied  the  other. 

"What  do  you  say,  my  lord?"  asked  Mr.  Folliard  of 
the  peer. 

"  I  don't  much  care  which,"  replied  his  lordship  ;  "  man 
or  priest,  be  it  as  you  can  determine  ;  only  I  say  that  when  you 
hang  the  priest,  I  agree  with  Whitecraft  there,  that  it  is  all 
up  with  the  man,  and  when  you  hang  the  man,  it  is  all  up 
with  the  priest.  By  the  way,  Whitecraft,"  he  proceeded, 
"  how  would  you  like  to  swing  yourself  ?" 

"  I  am  sure,  my  lord,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  you  wouldn't 
wish  to  see  me  hanged." 


1S4  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Well,  I  don't  know — perhaps  I  might,  and  perhaps  I 
might  not  ;  but  I  know  you  would  make  a  long  corpse,  and 
I  think  you  would  dangle  handsomely  enough  ;  you  have 
long  limbs,  a  long  body,  and  half  a  mile  of  neck  ;  upon  my 
soul,  one  would  think  you  were  made  for  it.  Yes,  I  dare 
say  I  should  like  to  see  you  hanged — I  am  rather  inclined  to 
think  I  would — it's  a  subject,  however,  on  which  I  am 
perfectly  indifferent  ;  but  if  ever  you  should  be  hanged,  Sir 
Robert,  I  shall  certainly  make  it  a  point  to  see  you  thrown 
off  if  it  were  only  as  a  mark  of  respect  for  your  humane 
and  excellent  character." 

"  He  would  be  a  severe  loss  to  the  country,"  observed 
Sir  Jenkins  ;  "  the  want  of  his  hospitality  would  be  deeply 
felt  by  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood  ;  for  which  reason," 
he  observed  sarcastically,  "  I  hope  he  will  be  spared  to  us 
as  long  as  his  hospitality  lasts." 

11  In  the  meantime,  gentlemen,"  observed  the  sheriff,  "  I 
wish  that,  with  such  keen  noses  for  priests  and  rebels  and 
criminals,  you  could  come  upon  the  trail  of  the  scoundrel 
who  robbed  me  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds." 

"Would  you  know  him  again,  Mr.  Sheriff?"  asked  Sir 
Robert,  "  and  could  you  describe  his  appearance  ?" 

"  I  have  been  turning  the  matter  over,"  replied  the 
sheriff,  "  and  I  feel  satisfied  that  I  would  know  him  if  I 
saw  him.  He  was  dressed  in  a  broadcloth  brown  coat, 
light-colored  breeches,  and  had  silver  buckles  in  his  shoes. 
The  fellow  was  no  common  robber.  Stuart — one  of  your 
dragoons,  Sir  Robert,  who  came  to  my  relief  when  it  was 
too  late — insists,  from  my  description  of  the  dress,  that  it 
was  Reilly. " 

"Are  you  sure  he  was  not  dressed  in  black?"  asked 
Smellpriest.  "Did  you  observe  a  beads  or  crucifix  about 
him  ?" 

"  I  have  described  the  dress  accurately,"  replied  the 
sheriff  ;  "  but  I  am  certain  that  it  was  not  Reilly.  On 
bringing  the  matter  to  my  recollection,  after  I  had  got  rid 
of  the  pain  and  agitation,  I  was  able  to  remember  that  the 
ruffian  had  a  coarse  face  and  red  whiskers.  Now  Reilly' s 
hair  and  whiskers  are  black." 

"  It  was  a  reverend  Papist,"  said  Smellpriest  ;  "one  of 
those  from  whom  you  had  levied  the  fines  that  day,  and  who 
thought  it  no  harm  to  transfer  them  back  again  to  holy 


WILLY  REILLY.  185 

Church.     You   know  not  how  those  rascals   can   disguise 
themselves." 

"  And  can  you  blame  them,  Smellpriest,"  said  the  squire, 
"  for  disguising  themselves  ?  Now,  suppose  the  tables  were 
turned  upon  us,  that  Popery  got  the  ascendant,  and  that  Pa- 
pists started  upon  the  same  principles  against  us  that  we  put 
in  practice  against  them  ;  suppose  that  Popish  soldiers  were 
halloed  on  against  our  parsons,  and  all  other  Protestants 
conspicuous  for  an  attachment  to  their  religion,  and  anxious 
to  put  down  the  persecution  under  which  we  suffered  ;  why, 
hang  it,  could  you  blame  the  parsons,  when  hunted  to  the 
death,  for  disguising  themselves  ?  And  if  you  could  not, 
how  can  you  blame  the  priests  ?  Would  you' have  the  poor 
devils  walk  into  your  hands  and  say,  '  Come,  gentlemen,  be 
good  enough  to  hang  or  transport  us.'  I  am  anxious  to  se- 
cure Reilly,  and  either  to  hang  or  transport  him.  I  would 
say  the  latter,  though." 

"  And  I  the  former,"  observed  Sir  Robert. 

"  Well,  Bob,  that  is  as  may  happen  ;  but  in  the  meantime, 
I  say  he  never  robbed  the  sheriff  here  ;  and  if  he  were  going 
to  the  gallows  to-morrow,  I  would  maintain  it. ' ' 

Neither  the  clergyman  nor  Mr.  Hastings  took  much  part 
in  the  conversation  ;  but  the  eye  of  the  latter  was,  during 
the  greater  portion  of  the  evening,  fixed  upon  the  baronet, 
like  that  of  a  basilisk,  accompanied  by  a  hidden  meaning, 
which  it  was  impossible  to  penetrate,  but  which,  nevertheless, 
had  such  an  effect  upon  Whitecraft  that  he  could  not  help 
observing  it. 

"It  would  seem,  Mr.  Hastings,"  said  he,  "  as  if  you  had 
never  seen  me  before.  Your  eye  has  scarcely  been  off  me 
during  the  whole  evening.  It  is  not  pleasant,  sir,  nor 
scarcely  gentlemanly. 

"You  should  feel  proud  of  it,  Sir  Robert,"  replied 
Hastings  ;   "  I  only  admire  you." 

"  Well,  then,  I  wish  you  would  express  your  admiration  in 
some  other  manner  than  by  staring  at  me." 

"  Gadzooks,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire,  "don't  you 
know  that  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king  ?  Hastings  must  be  a 
man  of  devilish  good  taste,  Bob,  and  you  ought  to  thank 
him." 

Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Hastings  soon  afterwards  went  up- 
stairs, and  left  the  other  gentlemen  to  their  liquor,  which 


1 36  WILLY  REILLY. 

ihey  now  began  to  enjoy  with  a  more  convivial  spirit.  The 
old  squire's  loyalty  rose  to  a  very  high  pitch,  as  indeed  did 
that  of  his  companions,  all  of  whom  entertained  the  same 
principles,  with  the  exception  of  Lord  Deilmacare,  whose 
opinions  never  could  be  got  at,  for  the  very  sufficient  reason 
that  he  did  not  know  them  himself. 

11  Come,  Whitecraft, "  said  the  squire,  "  help  yourself, 
and  push  the  bottle  ;  now  that  those  two  half- Papists  are 
gone,  we  can  breathe  and  speak  a  little  more  freely.  Here's 
our  glorious  Constitution,  in  Church  and  State,  and  curse 
all  priests  and  Papists — barring  a  few,  that  I  know  to  be 
honest." 

"  I  drink  it,  but  I  omit  the  exception,"  said  Sir  Robert, 
11  and  I  wonder,  sir,  you  would  make  any  exception  to  such 
a  toast." 

"I  drink  it,"  said  Smellpriest,  "including  the  rascal 
priests." 

"  And  I  drink  it,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  as  it  has  been  pro- 
posed." 

"  What  was  it  ?"  said  Lord  Deilmacare  ;  "  come,  I  drink 
it — it  doesn't  matter.  I  suppose,  coming  from  our  excellent- 
host,  it  must  be  right  and  proper." 

They  caroused  deeply,  and  in  proportion  as  the  liquor 
affected  their  brains,  so  did  their  determination  to  rid  the 
squire  of  the  rebel  Reilly  form  itself  into  an  express  resolu- 
tion to  that  effect. 

11  Hang  Reilly — hang  the  villain — the  gallows  for  him — 
hurra  !"  and  in  this  charitable  sentiment  their  voices  all 
joined  in  a  fierce  and  drunken  exclamation,  uttered  with 
their  hands  all  clasped  in  each  other  with  a  strong  and  firm 
grip.  From  one  mouth  alone,  however,  proceeded,  amidst 
a  succession  of  hiccups,  the  word  "  transportation,"  which, 
when  Lord  Deilmacare  heard,  he  changed  his  principle,  and 
joined  the  old  squire  in  the  same  mitigation  of  feeling. 

"  I  say,  Deilmacare,"  shouted  Sir  Robert,  "  we  must 
hang  him  high  and  dry." 

"Very  well,"  replied  his  lordship,  "with  all  my  heart, 
Sir  Px.obert  ;  we  must  hang  you  high  and  dry." 

"  But,  Deilmacare,"  said  the  squire,  "  we  shall  only  trans- 
port him." 

"Very  good,"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  emptying  a 
bumper  ;     "  we  shall  only  transport  you,  Sir  Robert." 


WILLY  REILLY.  187 

"  Hang  him,  Deilmacare  !" 

11  Very  well,  hang  him  !" 

"  Transport  him,  I  say,  Deilmacare,"  from  the  squire. 

"  Good  again,"  said  his  lordship  ;  "  transport  him, 
say  I." 

And  on  went  the  drunken  revel,  until  they  scarcely  knew 
what  they  said. 

The  clergyman  and  Mr.  Hastings,  on  reaching  the  draw- 
ing-room, found  Helen  in  a  state  of  inexpressible  distress. 
A  dispute  upon  the  prevailing  morals  of  all  modern  young 
ladies  had  been  got  up  by  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Oxley,  for 
the  express  purpose  of  venting  their  petty  malice  against  the 
girl,  because  they  had  taken  it  into  their  heads  that  she  paid 
more  attention  to  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings  than  she 
did  to  them.  This  dispute  was  tantamount  to  what,  in  the 
prize  ring,  is  called  a  cross,  when  the  fight  is  only  a  mock 
one,  and  terminates  by  the  voluntary  defeat  of  one  of  the 
parties,  upon  a  preconcerted  arrangement. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  my  lady  ;  nor  can  I  think  that 
the  morals  of  young  ladies  in  'igh  life,  by  witch  I  mean  the 
daughters  and  heiresses  of  wealthy  squires — " 

11  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oxley,"  said  her  ladyship,  interrupt- 
ing her,  and  placing  her  hand  gently  upon  her  arm,  as  if  to 
solicit  her  consent  to  the  observation  she  was  about  to  make, 
"you  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oxley,  that  the  daughter  of  a 
mere  country  squire  can  have  no  pretensions  to  come  under 
the  definition  of  high  life." 

11  Wy  not  ?"  replied  Mrs.  Oxley  ;  "  the  squires  are  often 
wealthier  than  the  haristocracy  ;  and  I  don't  at  all  see," 
she  added,  "  wy  the  daughter  of  such  a  man  should  not  be 
considered  as  moving  in  'igh  life — always,  of  course,  pro- 
vided that  she  forms  no  disgraceful  attachments  to  Papists 
and  rebels  and  low  persons  of  that  'ere  class.  No,  my 
lady,  I  don't  at  all  agree  with  you  in  your  view  of  'igh  life." 

11  You  don't  appear,  madam,  to  entertain  a  sufficiently 
accurate  estimate  of  high  life." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  think  I  can  understand  'igh 
life  as  well  as  those  that  don't  know  it  better  nor  myself. 
I've  seen  a  great  deal  of  'igh  life.  Feyther  'ad  a  willar  at 
'Igate,  and  Tgate  is  known  to  be  the  'ighest  place  about  the 
metropolis  of  Lunnon — it  and  St.  Paul's  are  upon  a  bevel." 

"  Level,  perhaps,  you  mean,  ma'am  ?" 


i S3  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Level  or  bevel,  it  doesn't  much  diversify — but  I  prefer 
the  bevel  to  the  level  on  all  occasions.  All  I  knows  is,"  she 
proceeded,  "  that  it  is  a  shame  for  any  young  lady,  as  is  a 
young  lady,  to  take  a  liking  to  a  Papist,  because  we  know 
the  Papists  are  all  rebels  and  would  cut  our  throats,  only 
for  the  protection  of  our  generous  and  merciful  laws. ,: 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  merciful  laws,"  ob- 
served Airs.  Brown.  "  They  surely  cannot  be  such  laws  as 
oppress  and  persecute  a  portion  of  the  people,  and  give  an 
unjust  license  to  one  class  to  persecute  another,  and  to  pre- 
vent them  from  exercising  the  duties  which  their  religion 
imposes  upon  them." 

11  Well,"  said  Lady  Joram,  "  all  I  wish  is,  that  the  Papists 
were  exterminated  ;  we  should  then  have  no  apprehensions 
that  our  daughters  would  disgrace  themselves  by  falling  in 
love  with  them." 

This  conversation  was  absolutely  cruel,  and  the  amiable 
Airs.  Brown,  from  compassion  to  Helen,  withdrew  her  into 
a  corner  of  the  room,  and  entered  into  conversation  with 
her  upon  a  different  topic,  assuring  her  previously  that  she 
would  detail  their  offensive  and  ungenerous  remarks  to  her 
father,  who,  she  trusted,  would  never  see  them  under  his 
roof  again,  nor  give  them  an  opportunity  of  indulging  in 
their  vulgar  malignity  a  second  time.  Helen  thanked  her, 
and  said  their  hints  and  observations,  though  rude  and  un- 
generous, gave  her  but  little  pain.  The  form  of  language  in 
which  they  were  expressed,  she  added,  and  the  indefensible 
violation  of  all  the  laws  of  hospitality,  blunted  the  severity 
of  what  they  said. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  said,  "of  my  attachment  to 
the  brave  and  generous  young  man  who  saved  my  father's 
life.  He  is  of  no  vulgar  birth,  but  a  highly  educated  and  a 
highly  accomplished  gentleman — a  man,  in  fact,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Brown,  whom  no  woman,  be  her  rank  in  life  ever  so 
high  or  exalted,  might  blush  to  love.  /  do  not  blush  to 
make  the  avowal  that  I  love  him  ;  but,  unfortunately,  in 
consequence  of  the  existing  laws  of  the  country,  my  love 
for  him,  which  I  will  never  conceal,  must  be  a  hopeless 
one." 

"  I  regret  the  state  of  those  laws,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard, 
as  much  as  you  do  ;  but  still  their  existence  puts  a  breach 
between  you  and  Reilly,  and  under  those  circumstances  my 


WILLY  REILLY.  189 

advice  to  you  is  to  overcome  your  affection  for  him  if  you 
can.     Marriage  is  out  of  the  question." 

"It  is  not  marriage  I  think  of — for  that  is  out  of  the 
oxuestion — but  Reilly's  life  and  safety.  If  he  were  safe,  I 
should  feel  comparatively  happy  ;  happiness,  in  its  full  ex- 
tent, I  never  can  hope  to  enjoy  ;  but  if  he  were  only  safe — 
if  he  were  only  safe,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brown  !  I  know  that  he 
is  hunted  like  a  beast  of  prey,  and  under  such  circumstances 
as  disturb  and  distract  the  country,  how  can  he  escape  ?" 

The  kind-hearted  lady  consoled  her  as  well  as  she  could  ; 
but,  in  fact,  her  grounds  for  consolation  were  so  slender  that 
her  arguments  only  amounted  to  those  general  observations 
which,  commonplace  as  they  are,  we  are  in  the  habit  of  hear- 
ing from  day  to  day.  Helen  was  too  high-minded  to  shed 
tears,  but  Mrs.  Brown  could  plainly  perceive  the  depth  of 
her  emotion,  and  feel  the  extent  of  what  she  suffered. 

We  shall  not  detail  at  further  length  the  conversation  of 
the  other  ladies — if  ladies  they  can  be  called  ;  nor  that  of 
the  gentlemen,  after  they  entered  the  drawing-room.  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  attempted  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
Helen,  but  found  himself  firmly  and  decidedly  repulsed.  In 
point  of  fact,  some  of  the  gentlemen  were  not  in  a  state  to 
grace  a  drawing-room,  and  in  a  short  time  they  took  their 
leave  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SIR    ROBERT    MEETS    A    BROTHER    SPORTSMAN DRAWS    HIS 

NETS,    BUT    CATCHES    NOTHING. 

11  "  I  ^IS  conscience  that  makes  cowards  of  us  all,"  said 
X  Shakespeare,  with  that  wonderful  wisdom  which 
enlightens  his  glorious  pages  ;  and,  in  fact,  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  in  his  own  person,  fully  corroborated  the  truth 
of  the  poet's  apophthegm.  The  man,  besides,  was  naturally 
a  coward  ;  and  when  to  this  we  add  the  consciousness  of  his 
persecutions  and  cruelties,  and  his  apprehensions  from  the 
revenge  of  Reilly — the  destruction  of  whose  property,  with- 
out any  authority  from  Government  for  the  act,  he  felt  him- 


190  WILLY  REILLY. 

self  guilty  of — the  reader  may  understand  the  nature  and 
extent  of  his  terrors  on  his  way  home.  The  distance  be- 
tween  his  own  house  and  that  of  his  intended  father-in-law 
was  about  three  miles,  and  there  lay  a  long  space  of  level 
road,  hedged  in,  as  was  then  the  custom,  on  both  sides,  from 
behind  which  hedges  an  excellent  aim  could  be  taken.  As 
Sir  Robert  proceeded  along  this  lonely  path,  his  horse 
stumbled  against  some  stones  that  were  in  his  way,  or  per- 
haps that  had  been  purposely  placed  there.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  the  baronet  fell,  and  a  small  man.  of  compact  size  and 
vigorous  frame,  was  found  aiding  him  to  rise.  Having 
helped  him  into  his  saddle,  the  baronet  asked  him,  with  an 
infirm  and  alarmed  voice,  who  he  was. 

"  Why,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied,  "  you  must  know  I  am 
not  a  Papist,  or  I  wouldn't  be  apt  to  render  you  any  as- 
sistance ;  I  am  somewhat  of  your  own  kidney — a  bit  of  a 
priest-hunter,  on  a  small  scale.  I  used  to  set  them  for 
Captain  Smellpriest,  but  he  paid  me  badly,  and  as  there 
was  great  risk  among  the  bloody  Papists,  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  withdraw  out  of  his  service  ;  but  you  are  a  gentle- 
man, Sir  Robert,  what  Captain  Smellpriest  is  not,  and  if  you 
want  an  active  and  useful  enemy  to  Popery,  I  am  your 
man." 

"  I  want  such  a  person,  certainly,"  replied  the  baronet, 
who,  in  consequence  of  the  badness  of  the  road  and  the 
darkness  of  the  night,  was  obliged  to  walk  his  horse  with 
caution.  "  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  did  you  not  hear  a 
noise  behind  the  hedge  ?" 

"  I  did,"  replied  the  other,  "  but  it  was  the  noise  of 
cattle." 

11  I  am  not  aware,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  what  the  devil 
cattle  can  have  to  do  immediately  behind  the  hedge.  I 
rather  think  they  are  some  of  our  own  species  ;"  and  as  he 
ceased  speaking  the  tremendous  braying  of  a  jackass  came 
upon  their  ears. 

"  You  were  right,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  his  companion  ; 
"  I  beg  pardon,  I  mean  that  I  was  right  ;  you  know  now  it 
was  cattle." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

"  Rowland  Drum,  Sir  Robert  ;  and,  if  you  will  permit 
me,  I  should  like  to  see  you  safe  home.  I  need  not  say 
that  you  are  hated  by  the  Papists  ;  and  as  the  road  is  lone- 


WILLY  REILLY.  191 

some  and  dangerous,  as  a  priest-hunter  myself  I  think  it  an 
act  of  duty  not  to  leave  you." 

11  Thank  you,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  are  a  civil  person, 
and  I  will  accept  your  escort." 

11  Whatever  danger  you  may  run,  Sir  Robert,  I  will  stand 
by  your  side  and  partake  of  it." 

"  Thank  you,  friend,"  replied  Sir  Robert;  "there  wa 
lonely  place  before  us,  where  a  ghost  is  said  to  be  seen — the 
ghost  of  a  priest  whom  I  hunted  for  a  long  time  ;  Smell- 
priest,  it  is  said,  shot  him  at  the  place  I  allude  to.  He  was 
disguised  as  a  drummer,  and  is  said  to  haunt  the  locality 
where  he  was  shot." 

"Well,  I  shall  see  you  safe  over  the  place,  Sir  Robert, 
and  go  home  with  you  afterwards,  provided  you  will  promise 
to  give  me  a  bed  and  my  supper  ;  to-morrow  we  can  talk  on 
matters  of  business." 

"  I  shall  certainly  do  so,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  not  only 
in  consequence  of  your  attention  to  me,  but  of  our  common 
purpose." 

They  then  proceeded  onwards — passed  the  haunted  spot 
— without  either  hearing  or  seeing  the  spectral  drummer. 
On  arriving  at  home,  Sir  Robert,  who  drank  privately,  or- 
dered wine  for  himself,  and  sent  Rowland  Drum  to  the 
kitchen,  where  he  was  rather  meagerly  entertained,  and  was 
afterwards  lodged  for  the  night  in  the  garret. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Sir  Robert  sent  for 
Mr.  Drum,  who,  on  entering  the  breakfast  parlor,  was  thus 
addressed  by  his  new  patron  : 

"  What's  this  you  say  your  name  is  ?" 

11  Rowland  Drum,  sir." 

"  Rowland  Drum  !  Well,  now,  Rowland  Drum,  are  you 
well  acquainted  with  the  priests  of  this  diocese  ?" 

"  No  man  better,"  replied  the  redoubtable  Rowland. 
"  I  know  most  of  them  by  person,  and  have  got  private 
descriptions  of  them  all  from  Captain  Smellpriest,  which 
will  be  invaluable  to  you,  Sir  Robert.  The  fact  is — and 
this  I  mention  in  the  strictest  confidence — that  Smellpriest  is 
suspicious  of  your  attachment  to  our  glorious  Constitution." 

"  The  confounded  rascal,"  replied  the  baronet.  "  Did 
he  ever  burn  as  many  Popish  houses  as  I  have  done  ?  He 
has  no  appetite  for  any  thing  but  the  pursuit  and  capture  of 
priests  ;  but  I  have  a  far  more  general  and  unsparing  prac- 


"92  WILLY  REILLY. 

tice,  for  I  not  only  capture  the  priests,  where  I  can,  but 
every  lay  Papist  that  we  suspect  in  the  country.  Here,  for 
instance.  Do  you  see  those  papers  ?  They  are  blank  war- 
rants for  the  apprehension  of  the  guilty  and  suspected,  and 
also  protections,  transmitted  to  me  from  the  Secretary  of 
State,  that  I  may  be  enabled,  by  his  authority,  to  protect 
such  Papists  as  will  give  useful  information  to  the  Govern- 
ment. Here  they  are,  signed  by  the  Secretary,  but  the 
blanks  are  left  for  myself  to  fill  up." 

"  I  wish  we  could  get  Reilly  to  come  over,"  said  Mr. 
Drum. 

"Oh!  the  infernal  villain,"  said  the  baronet,  "all  the 
protections  that  ever  were  or  could  be  issued  from  the  Sec- 
retary's office  would  not  nor  could  not  save  him.  Old  Fol- 
liard  and  I  will  hang  him,  if  there  was  not  another  man  to  be 
hanged  in  the  three  kingdoms." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  came  in  and  said,  "  Sir  Robert, 
there  is  a  woman  here  who  wishes  to  have  some  private  con- 
versation with  you." 

11  What  kind  of  a  woman  is  she  ?"  asked  the  baronet. 

"  Faith,  your  honor,  a  sturdy  and  strapping  wench,  some- 
what rough  in  the  face,  but  of  great  proportions." 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Drum  had  been  sitting  at 
the  window  during  this  brief  conversation,  and  at  once  re- 
cognized, under  the  disguise  of  a  woman,  the  celebrated  in- 
former, the  Rev.  Mr.  Hennessy,  a  wretch  whose  criminal 
course  of  life,  as  we  said  before,  was  so  gross  and  rep- 
robate that  his  pious  bishop  deemed  it  his  duty  to  suspend 
him  from  all  clerical  functions. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  Drum,  "  I  must  go  up  to  my  room 
and  shave.  My  presence,  I  apprehend,  won't  be  necessary 
where  there  is  a  lady  in  question." 

11  Very  well,"  replied  the  baronet  ;  "  I  know  not  what 
her  business  may  be  ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  speak  with  you 
after  she  shall  have  gone." 

It  was  very  well  that  Hennessy  did  not  see  Drum,  whom 
he  would  at  once  have  recognized  ;  but,  at  all  events,  the 
interview  between  the  reprobate  priest  and  the  baronet  lasted 
for  at  least  an  hour. 

After  the  Rev.  Miss  Hennessy  had  taken  her  departure, 
Mr.  Drum  was  sent  for  by  the  baronet,  whom  he  still  found 
in  the  breakfast  parlor. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  193 

"  Drum,"  said  he,  "  you  have  now  an  opportunity  of  es- 
sentially serving  not  only  me,  but  the  Government  of  the 
country.  This  lady  turns  out  to  be  a  Popish  priest  in  dis- 
guise, and  I  have  taken  him  into  my  confidence  as  a  guide 
and  auxiliary.  Now  you  have  given  me  proofs  of  personal 
attachment,  which  is  certainly  more  than  he  has  done  as  yet. 
I  have  heard  of  his  character  as  an  immoral  priest  ;  and  the 
man  who  could  be  false  to  his  own  creed  is  not  a  man  to  be 
relied  upon.  He  has  described  to  me  the  position  of  a  cav- 
ern, in  which  are  now  hiding  a  set  of  proscribed  priests  ; 
but  I  cannot  have  confidence  in  his  information,  and  I  wish 
you  to  go  to  the  ravine  or  cavern,  or  whatever  the  devil  it 
is,  and  return  to  me  with  correct  intelligence.  It  may  be  a 
lure  to  draw  me  into  danger,  or  perhaps  to  deprive  me  of  my 
life  ;  but,  on  second  thought,  I  think  I  shall  get  a  military 
force,  and  go  myself." 

11  And  perhaps  never  return,  unless  with  your  heels  fore- 
most, Sir  Robert.  I  tell  you  that  this  Hennessy  is  the  most 
treacherous  scoundrel  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  You  do  not 
know  what  he's  at,  but  I  will  tell  you,  for  I  have  it  from 
his  own  cousin.  His  object  is  to  have  you  assassinated,  in 
order  to  restore  himself  to  the  good  graces  of  the  bishop  and 
the  Catholic  party,  who,  I  must  say,  however,  would  not 
countenance  such  a  murderous  act  ;  still,  Sir  Robert,  if  you 
were  taken  off,  the  man  who  took  you  off  would  have  his 
name  honored  and  exalted  throughout  the  country." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  are  right,  Drum  ;  they  are  thirst- 
ing for  my  blood,  but  not  more  than  I  am  thirsting  for 
theirs." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Drum,  "don't  trust  yourself  to  the 
counsels  of  this  Hennessy,  who,  in  my  opinion,  only  wants 
to  make  a  scapegoat  of  you.  Allow  me  to  go  to  the  place 
he  mentions,  for  I  know  the  ravine  well,  but  I  never  knew 
nor  do  I  believe  that  there  is  a  cavern  at  all  in  it,  and  that 
is  what  makes  me  suspect  the  scoundrel's  motives.  He  can 
have  hundreds  of  outlaws  secretly  armed,  who  would  never 
suffer  you  to  escape  with  your  life.  The  thing  is  an  ambus- 
cade ;  take  my  word  for  it,  it  is  nothing  less.  Of  course 
you  can  go,  yourself  and  your  party,  if  you  wish.  You  will 
prevent  me  from  running  a  great  risk  ;  but  I  am  only  anx- 
ious for  your  safety." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  shall  go  upon  this 


194  WILLY  R LILLY. 

mission.  It  may  not  be  safe  for  me  to  do  so.  Try  if  you 
can  make  out  this  cavern,  if  there  be  a  cavern." 

"  I  will  try,  Sir  Robert  ;  and  I  will  venture  to  say,  that 
if  it  can  be  made  out,  /  will  make  it  out." 

Rowland  Drum  accordingly  set  out  upon  his  mission,  and 
having  arrived  at  the  cavern,  with  which  he  was  so  well  ac- 
quainted, he  entered  it  with  the  usual  risk.  His  voice,  how- 
ever, was  recognized,  and  he  got  instant  admittance. 

11  My  dear  friends,"  said  he,  after  he  had  entered  the 
inner  part  of  it,  "you  must  disperse  immediately.  Hen- 
nessy  has  betrayed  you,  and  if  you  remain  here  twenty-four 
hours  longer,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  a  party  of  military, 
guided,  probably,  by  the  treacherous  scoundrel  himself,  will 
be  upon  you.  The  villain  had  a  long  interview  with  him, 
and  gave  a  full  detail  of  the  cavern  and  its  inmates." 

11  But  how  did  you  become  acquainted  with  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  ?"  asked  the  bishop. 

"  In  order,  my  lord,  to  ascertain  his  intentions  and  future 
proceedings,"  replied  Mr.  Drum,  "  that  we  might  guard 
against  his  treachery  and  persecution.  On  his  way  home 
from  a  dinner  at  Squire  Folliard's  I  met  him  in  a  lonely  part 
of  the  road,  where  he  was  thrown  from  his  horse  ;  I  helped 
him  into  his  saddle,  told  him  I  was  myself  a  priest-hunter, 
and  thus  got  into  his  confidence  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  frus- 
trate Hennessy's  treachery,  and  to  counteract  his  own  de- 
signs." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  bishop  sternly,  "  you  have  acted  a  part 
unworthy  of  a  Christian  clergyman.  We  should  not  do  evil 
that  good  may  follow  ;  and  you  have  done  evil  in  associating 
yourself,  in  any  sense  and  for  any  purpose,  with  this  blood- 
thirsty tiger  and  persecutor  of  the  faithful." 

11  My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  "  this  is  not  a  time  to  enter 
into  a  discussion  on  such  a  subject.  Hennessy  has  betrayed 
us  ;  and  if  you  do  not  disperse  to  other  places  of  safety,  he 
will  himself,  as  I  said,  lead  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  a 
military  party  to  this  very  cavern,  and  then  may  God  have 
mercy  on  you  all." 

11  Brethren,"  said  the  bishop,  "  this  is,  after  all,  possible 
that  our  brother  has,  by  the  mercy  and  providence  of  God, 
through  his  casual  meeting  with  this  remorseless  man,  been 
made  the  instrument  of  our  safety.  As  for  myself,  I  am 
willing  to  embrace  the  crown  of  martyrdom,  and  to  lay  down 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  195 

my  life,  if  necessary,  for  the  faith  that  is  in  me.  You  all 
know  what  I  have  already  suffered,  and  you  know  that  per- 
secution drives  a  wise  man  mad.  My  chldren,"  he  added, 
"  it  is  possible,  and  I  fear  too  probable,  that  some  of  us  may 
never  see  each  other  in  this  life  again  ;  but  at  the  same  time, 
let  it  be  our  hope  and  consolation  that  we  shall  meet  in  a 
better.  And  for  this  purpose,  and  in  order  to  secure  a  fu- 
turity of  happiness,  let  us  lead  spotless  and  irreproachable 
lives,  such  as  will  enable  us  to  meet  the  hour  of  death, 
whether  it  comes  by  the  hand  of  God  or  the  persecution  of 
man.  Be  faithful  to  the  principles  of  our  holy  religion — be 
faithful  to  truth — to  moral  virtue — be  faithful  to  God,  before 
whose  awful  tribunal  we  must  all  appear,  and  render  an  ac- 
count of  our  lives.  It  would  be  mere  wantonness  to  throw 
yourselves  into  the  hands  of  our  persecutors.  Reserve  your- 
selves for  the  continuance  and  the  sustainment  of  our  blessed 
religion  ;  but  if  you  should  happen  to  fall,  by  the  snares  and 
devices  of  the  enemy,  into  the  power  of  those  who  are  striv- 
ing to  work  our  extermination,  and  if  they  should  press  you 
to  renounce  your  faith,  upon  the  alternative  of  banishment 
or  death,  then,  I  say,  banishment,  or  death  itself,  sooner 
than  become  apostates  to  your  religion.  I  shall  retire  to  a 
neighborhood  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  this,  where  the 
poor  Catholic  population  are  without  spiritual  aid  or  conso- 
lation. I  have  been  there  before,  and  I  know  their  wants, 
and  were  it  not  that  I  was  hunted  and  pursued  with  a  view 
to  my  death — to  my  murder,  I  should  rather  say — I  would 
have  remained  with  them  still.  But  that  I  considered  it  a 
duty  to  that  portion  of  the  Church  over  which  God  called 
upon  me  to  preside  and  watch,  I  would  not  have  avoided 
those  inhuman  traffickers  in  the  blood  of  God's  people. 
Yet  I  am  bound  to  say  that,  from  the  clergymen  of  the  Es- 
tablished Church,  and  from  many  Protestant  magistrates, 
we  have  received  kindness,  sympathy,  and  shelter.  Their 
doors,  their  hearths,  and  their  hearts  have  been  open  to  us, 
and  that,  too,  in  a  truly  Christian  spirit.  Let  us,  then, 
render  them  good  for  good  ;  let  us  pray  for  their  conversion, 
and  that  they  may  return  to  the  right  path." 

11  They  have  acted  generously  and  nobly,"  added  Reilly, 
"  and  in  a  truly  Christian  spirit.  Were  it  not  for  the  shelter 
and  protection  which  I  myself  received  from  one  of  them, 
my  mangled  body  would  probably  be  huddled  down  into 


196  WILLY  REILLY, 

some  obscure  grave,  as  a  felon,  and  my  property — which  is 
mine  only  by  a  necessary  fiction  and  evasion  of  the  law — 
have  passed  into  the  hands  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  I  am 
wrong,  however,  in  saying  that  it  could.  Mr.  Hastings,  a 
generous  and  liberal  Protestant,  took  it  in  his  own  name  for 
my  father,  but  gave  me  a  deed  of  assignment,  placing  it  as 
securely  in  my  hands,  and  in  my  power,  as  if  I  were  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  himself  ;  and  I  must  add — which  I  do 
with  pleasure — that  the  deed  in  question  is  now  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brown,  the  amiable  rector  of  the 
parish." 

14  But  he  is  a  heretic,"  said  a  red-faced  little  man,  dressed 
in  leather  breeches,  top  boots,  and  a  huntsman's  cap  ; 
11  vade  retro,  sathanas.  It  is  a  damnable  crime  to  have  any 
intercourse  with  them,  or  to  receive  any  protection  from 
them  :  vade  retro,  sathanas. ' ' 

"  If  I  don't  mistake,"  said  the  cook — an  archdeacon,  by 
the  way — "you  yourself  received  protection  from  them, 
and  were  glad  to  receive  it. ' ' 

*  *  If  I  did  receive  protection  from  one  of  their  heretic 
parsons,  it  was  for  Christian  purposes.  My  object  was  not 
so  much  to  seek  protection  from  him  as  to  work  out  his  sal- 
vation by  withdrawing  him  from  his  heresy.  But  then  the 
fellow  was  as  obstinate  as  sathanas  himself,  and  had  Greek 
and  Hebrew  at  his  fingers'  ends.  I  made  several  passes  at 
him — tried  Irish,  and  told  him  it  was  Italian.  '  Well,'  said 
he,  smiling,  '  /  understand  Italian  too  ; '  and  to  my  aston- 
ishment he  addressed  me  in  the  best  Irish  I  ever  heard 
spoken.  '  Now,'  said  he,  still  smiling,  '  you  perceive  that  I 
understand  Italian  nearly — I  will  not  say  so  well — as  you 
do.'  Now,  as  I  am  a  sinner,  that,  I  say,  was  ungenerous 
treatment.     He  was  perfectly  irreclaimable." 

This  man  was,  like  Mr.  Maguire,  what  has  been  termed  a 
hedge-priest — a  character  which,  as  we  have  already  said, 
the  poverty  of  the  Catholic  people,  during  the  existence  of 
the  penal  laws,  and  the  consequent  want  of  spiritual  instruc- 
tion, rendered  necessary.  There  were  no  Catholic  colleges 
in  the  country,  and  the  result  was  that  the  number  of  foreign 
priests — by  which  I  mean  Irish  priests  educated  in  foreign 
colleges — was  utterly  inadequate  to  meet  the  spiritual  neces- 
sities of  the  Irish  population.  Under  those  circumstances, 
men  of  good  and  virtuous  character,  who  understood  some- 


IV ILLY  REJLLY.  197 

thing  of  the  Latin  tongue,  were  ordained  by  their  respective 
bishops,  for  the  purpose  which  we  have  already  mentioned. 
But  what  a  difference  was  there  between  those  half-educated 
men  and  the  class  of  educated  clergymen  who  now  adorn, 
not  only  their  Church,  but  the  literature  of  the  country  ! 

"Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  "let  us  be 
thankful  for  the  protection  which  we  have  received  at  the 
hands  of  the  Protestant  clergy  and  of  many  of  the  Protest- 
ant laity  also.  We  now  s'eparate,  and  I  for  one  am  sensible 
how  much  this  cruel  persecution  has  strengthened  the  bonds 
of  Christian  love  among  us,  and  excited  our  sympathy  for 
our  poor  persecuted  flocks,  so  many  of  whom  are  now  with- 
out a  shepherd.  I  leave  you  with  tears — but  they  are  tears 
of  affection,  and  not  of  despair.  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  use- 
ful wherever  I  may  abide.  Let  each  of  you  do  all  the  spir- 
itual good  you  can — all  the  earthly  good — all  good  in  its 
most  enlarged  and  purest  sense.  But  we  must  separate — 
probably,  some  of  us,  forever  ;  and  now  may  the  blessing 
of  the  Almighty  God — of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
rest  upon  you  all,  and  be  with  you  and  abide  in  your  hearts, 
now  and  forever  !     Amen  !" 

Having  pronounced  these  words,  he  covered  his  face  with 
his  two  hands  and  wept  bitterly.  There  were  indeed  few 
dry  eyes  around  him  ;  they  knelt  before  him,  kissed  his 
ring,  and  prepared  to  take  their  departure  out  of  the  cav- 
ern. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Reilly,  who  still  entertained  apprehen- 
sions of  the  return  of  his  malady,  "  if  you  will  permit  me  I 
shall  share  your  fate,  whatever  it  may  be.  The  poor  people 
you  allude  to  are  not  in  a  condition  to  attend  to  your  wants. 
Allow  me,  then,  to  attend  and  accompany  you  in  your  re- 
treat." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  clasping  his  hand, 
"  you  are  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head.  I  trust  you 
will  forgive  me,  for  I  knew  not  what  I  did.  I  shall  be  glad 
of  your  companionship.  I  fear  I  still  stand  in  need  of 
such  a  friend.  Be  it  so,  then,"  he  proceeded — "  be  it  so, 
my  dear  friend  ;  only  that  I  should  not  wish  you  to  involve 
yourself  in  unnecessary  danger  on  my  account." 

"  Danger,  my  lord  !"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  there  is  not  an 
individual  here  against  whom  personal  malignity  has  direct- 
ed the  vengeance  of  the  law  with  such  a  bloodthirsty  and 


1 9$  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

vindictive  spirit  as  against  myself.  Why  else  am  I  here  ? 
No,  I  will  accompany  your  lordship,  and  share  your  fate." 

It  was  so  determined,  and  they  left  the  cavern,  each  to 
procure  some  place  of  safety  for  himself. 

In  the  meantime,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  having  had  an- 
other interview  with  Hennessy,  was  prevailed  upon  to  get  a 
military  party  together,  and  the  cunning  reprobate,  in  order 
to  excite  the  baronet's  vengeance  to  a  still  higher  pitch, 
mentioned  a  circumstance  which  he  had  before  forgotten,  to 
wit,  that  Reilly,  his  arch-enemy,  was  also  in  the  cave. 

11  But,"  said  Sir  Robert,  who,  as  we  have  already  said, 
was  a  poltroon  and  a  coward,  "  what  guarantee  can  you 
give  me  that  you  are  not  leading  me  into  an  ambuscade  ? 
You  know  that  I  am  unpopular,  and  the  Papists  would  be 
delighted  to  have  my  blood  ;  what  guarantee,  then,  can  you 
give  me  that  you  are  acting  by  me  in  good  faith  ?" 

11  The  guarantee  of  my  own  life,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Let  me  be  placed  between  two  of  your  men,  and  if  you 
see  any  thing  like  an  ambuscade,  let  them  shoot  me  dead  on 
the  spot." 

"  Why,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that  is  fair  ;  but  the  truth 
is,  I  have  been  put  on  my  guard  against  you  by  a  person 
who  escorted  me  home  last  night.  He  rendered  me  some 
assistance  when  I  fell  from  my  horse,  and  he  slept  here." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?"   asked  Hennessy. 

11  He  told  me,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that  his  name  was 
Drum." 

11  Could  you  give  me  a  description,  Sir  Robert,  of  his  per- 
son ?" 

Sir  Robert  did  so. 

"  I  declare  to  God,  Sir  Robert,  you  have  had  a  narrow 
escape  from  that  man.  He  is  one  of  the  most  bigoted 
priests  in  the  kingdom.  He  used  to  disguise  himself  as  a 
drummer — for  his  father  was  in  the  army,  and  he  himself 
was  a  drummer  in  his  boyhood  ;  and  his  object  in  prevent- 
ing you  from  bringing  a  military  party  to  the  cavern  was 
merely  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  giving  them 
notice  of  your  intentions.  I  now  say  that  if  you  lose  an 
hour's  time  they  will  be  gone. 

Sir  Robert  did  not  lose  an  hour's  time.  The  local  bar- 
racks were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  his  house.  A  party 
of  military  were  immediately  called  out,  and  in  a  short  time 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  199 

they  arrived,  under  the  guidance  of  Hennessy,  to  the  very 
mouth  of  the  cavern,  which  he  disclosed  to  them.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  detail  the  particulars  of  the  search.  The  sol- 
diers entered  it  one  by  one,  but  found  that  the  birds  had 
flown.  The  very  fires  were  burning,  but  not  a  living  soul  in 
the  cave  ;  it  was  completely  deserted,  and  nothing  remained 
but  some  miserable  relics  of  cold  provisions,  with  which,  by 
the  aid  of  fir  splices,  that  served  as  torches,  they  regaled 
themselves  as  far  as  they  went. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  now  felt  full  confidence  in  Hen- 
nessy ;  but  would  have  given  a  trifle  to  renew  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Mr.  Rowland  Drum,  by  whose  ingenuity  he  was 
so  completely  outwitted.  As  it  was,  they  scoured  the  coun- 
try in  search  of  the  inmates  of  the  cave,  but  above  all  things 
in  search  of  Reilly,  for  whose  capture  Whitecraft  would 
have  forgiven  every  man  in  the  cavern.  The  search,  how- 
ever, was  unsuccessful  ;  not  a  man  of  them  was  caught  that 
day,  and  gallant  Sir  Robert  and  his  myrmidons  were  obliged 
to  return  wearied  and  disappointed  men. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

REILLY    IS    TAKEN,    BUT     CONNIVED     AT    EY    THE    SHERIFF 

THE    MOUNTAIN    MASS. 

REILLY  and  the  bishop  traversed  a  wild  and  remote 
part  of  the  country,  in  which  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  long  barren  wastes,  over  which  were  studded,  here 
and  there,  a  few  solitary  huts  ;  upon  its  extremity,  how- 
ever, there  were  some  houses  of  a  more  comfortable  descrip- 
tion, the  habitations  of  middling  farmers,  who  possessed 
small  farms  at  a  moderate  rent.  As  they  went  along,  the 
prelate  addressed  Reilly  in  the  following  terms  : 

11  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  "  I  would  advise  you  to  get  out  of 
this  unhappy  country  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  who  was  all  candor  and  truth, 
and  never  could  conceal  his  sentiments,  at  whatever  risk, 
11  I  cannot  think  of  leaving  the  country,  let  the  conse- 
quences be  what  they  may.     I  will  not  trouble  your  lord- 


200  WILLY  REILLY 

ship  with  my  motives,  because  they  are  at  variance  with 
your  character  and  religious  feelings  ;  but  they  are  not  at 
variance  with  religion  or  morality.  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
I  wish  to  prevent  a  beautiful  and  innocent  girl  from  being 
sacrificed.  My  lord,  you  know  too  well  that  persecution  is 
abroad  ;  and  when  I  tell  you  that,  through  the  influence 
which  this  admirable  creature  has  over  her  father — who,  by 
the  way,  has  himself  the  character  of  a  persecutor — many 
Catholics  have  been  protected  by  him,  I  am  sure  you  will 
not  blame  me  for  the  interest  which  I  feel  in  her  fate.  In 
addition  to  this,  my  lord,  she  has  been  a  ministering  angel 
to  the  Catholic  poor  in  general,  and  has  contributed  vast 
sums,  privately,  to  the  relief  of  such  of  our  priesthood  as 
have  been  brought  to  distress  by  the  persecution  of  the 
times.  Nay,  she  has  so  far  influenced  her  father  that  pro- 
scribed priests  have  found  refuge  and  protection  in  his 
house." 

"  The  bishop,  on  hearing  this,  stood,  and  taking  off  his 
hat,  raised  his  right  hand,  and  said  :  "  May  the  blessing  of 
the  Almighty  God  rest  upon  her,  and  guard  her  from  the 
snares  of  those  who  would  make  her  unhappy  !  But,  Reilly, 
as  you  say  you  are  determined,  if  possible,  to  rescue  her 
from  ruin,  you  know  that  if  you  go  at  large  in  your  usual 
dress  you  will  unquestionably  be  taken.  I  advise  you,  then, 
to  disguise  yourself  in  such  a  way  as  that  you  will  not,  if 
possible,  be  known." 

"  Such,  my  lord,  is  my  intention — but  who  is  this  ?  what 
— eh — yes,  'tis  Fergus  O'Reilly,  a  distant  and  humble  rela- 
tion of  mine  who  is  also  in  disguise.  Well,  Fergus,  where 
have  you  been  for  some  time  past  ?" 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  that,  God  knows  ;  I  have 
been  everywhere — but,"  he  added  in  a  whisper,  "may  I 
speak  freely  ?' ' 

"  As  free  as  the  wind  that  blows,  Fergus." 

"Well,  then,  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  has 
engaged  me  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  you,  and  said  that  I 
would  be  handsomely  rewarded  if  I  could  succeed  in  en- 
abling the  scoundrel  to  apprehend  you." 

"But  how  did  that  come  about,  Fergus?" 

"  Faith,  he  met  me  one  day — you  see  I  have  got  a  bag  at 
my  back — and  taking  me  for  a  beggarman,  stopped  me  on  the 
road.    '  I  say,  you,  poor  man,'  says  he,  '  what's  your  name?' 


WILLY  REILLY.  201 

1  Paddy  M'Fud,'  says  I — '  I  belong  to  the  M'Fuds  of  Bally- 
mackknockem. '  '  You're  a  beggar, '  says  he,  '  and  travel  from 
place  to  place  about  the  country.'  '  It's  true  enough, 
your  honor,'  I  replied,  '  I  travel  about  a  good  deal,  of 
coorse,  and  it's  only  that  way  that  I  get  my  bit  and  sup.'  '  Do 
you  know  the  notorious  villain  called  Willy  Reilly  ? '  '  Not 
by  sight,  your  honor,  but  I  have  often  heard  of  him. 
Wasn't  he  in  love  with  the  beautiful  Cooleen  Bawn,  Squire 
Folliard's  daughter  ? '  '  That's  not  the  question  between 
us, '  he  said,  '  but  if  you  enable  me  to  catch  Reilly,  I  will 
give  you  twenty  pounds.'  '  Well,  your  honor,'  says  I,  '  lave 
the  thing  to  myself  ;  if  he  is  to  be  had  it'll  go  hard  but  I'll 
find  him.'  '  Well,  then,'  says  he,  '  if  you  can  tell  me  where 
he  is  I  will  give  you  twenty  pounds,  as  I  said.'  'Well, 
sir,'  says  I,  '  I  expect  to  hear  from  you  ;  I  am  not  sure  he's 
in  die  country — indeed  they  say  he  is  not — but  if  he  is,  I 
think  I'll  find  him  for  you  ;  '  and  so  we  parted." 

"  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  feel  that  a  disguise  is  neces- 
sary. Here  is  money  to  enable  you  to  purchase  one.  I  do 
not  know  where  you  may  be  able  to  find  me  ;  but  go  and 
buy  me  a  suit  of  frieze,  rather  worn,  a  dingy  caubeen  hat, 
coarse  Connemara  stockings,  and  a  pair  of  clouted  brogues  ; 
some  coarse  linen,  too;  because  the  fineness  of  my  shirts, 
should  I  happen  to  be  apprehended,  might  betray  me. 
Leave  them  with  Widow  Buckley,  and  I  can  find  them 
there." 

It  was  so  arranged.  Fergus  went  on  his  way,  as  did 
Reilly  and  the  bishop.  The  latter  conducted  him  to  the 
house  of  a  middling  farmer,  whose  son  the  bishop  had  sent, 
at  his  own  expense,  to  a  continental  college.  They  were 
both  received  with  the  warmest  affection,  and,  so  far  as  the 
bishop  was  concerned,  with  every  expression  of  the  deepest 
gratitude.  The  situation  was  remote,  and  the  tumult  of 
pursuit  did  not  reach  them.  Reilly  privately  forced  upon 
the  farmer  compensation  for  their  support,  under  a  solemn 
injunction  that  he  should  not  communicate  that  circum- 
stance to  the  bishop,  and  neither  did  he.  They  were  here, 
then,  comparatively  safe,  but  still  Reilly  dreaded  the  active 
vigilance  of  his  deadly  enemy,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  He 
felt  that  a  disguise  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  that,  with- 
out it,  he  might  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  diabolical  vengeance  of 
his  powerful  enemy.     In  the  course  of  about  ten  days  after 


202  WILLY  REILLY. 

he  had  commissioned  Fergus  to  procure  him  the  disguise,  he 
resolved  to  visit  widow  Buckley,  in  order  to  make  the  neces- 
sary exchange  in  his  apparel.  He  accordingly  set  out — 
very  foolishly  we  must  admit — in  open  day,  to  go  to  the 
widow's  house.  The  distance  was  some  miles.  No  appear- 
ance of  danger,  or  pursuit,  was  evident,  until  he  came  to  the 
sharp  angle  of  the  road,  where  he  was  met  by  four  powerful 
constables,  who,  on  looking  at  him,  immediately  surrounded 
him  and  made  him  prisoner.  Resistance  was  impossible  ; 
they  were  well  armed,  and  he  was  without  any  weapon  with 
which  he  could  defend  himself. 

"We  have  a  warrant  for  your  apprehension,  sir,"  said 
one  of  them. 

"Upon  what  grounds?"  replied  Reilly.  "I  am  con- 
scious of  no  offence  against  the  laws  of  the  land.  Do  you 
know  who  I  am  ?  and  is  my  name  in  your  warrant  ?" 

"  No,  but  your  appearance  answers  completely  to  the  de- 
scription given  in  the  Hue  and  Cry.  Your  dress  is  the  same 
as  that  of  the  robber,  and  you  must  come  with  us  to  the 
sheriff  whom  you  have  robbed.  His  house  is  only  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  this." 

They  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  sheriff's  house,  whom 
they  found  at  home.  On  being  informed  that  they  had  cap- 
tured the  man  who  had  robbed  him,  he  came  downstairs 
with  great  alacrity,  and  in  a  spirit  replete  with  vengeance 
against  the  robber.  The  sheriff,  however,  was  really  a 
good-natured  and  conscientious  man,  and  would  not  lend 
himself  to  a  dishonorable  act,  nor  had  he  ever  been  known 
to  do  so.     When  he  appeared,  Reilly  addressed  him  : 

"  I  am  here,  sir,"  said  he,  "  under  a  charge  of  having 
robbed  you.  The  charge  against  me  is  ridiculous.  I  am  a 
gentleman,  and  never  was  under  the  necessity  of  having 
recourse  to  such  unlawful  means  of  raising  money." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  your  dress  is  precisely  the 
same  as  the  fellow  wore  when  he  robbed  me.  But  I  feel 
confident  that  you  are  not  the  man.  Your  hair  is  black,  his 
was  red,  and  he  had  large  red  whiskers.  In  the  excitement 
and  agitation  of  the  moment  I  forgot  to  mark  the  villain's 
features  distinctly  ;  but  I  have  since  thought  over  the  mat- 
ter, and  I  say  that  I  would  now  know  him  if  I  saw  him  again. 
This,  however,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  constables,  **  is  not 
the  person  who  robbed  and  beat  me  down  from  my  horse." 


WILLY  REILLY.  203 

"  But  he  may  be  Willy  Reilly,  sir,  for  all  that  ;  and  you 
know  the  reward  that  is  offered  for  his  apprehension." 

"  I  know  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  Sheriff,  "  and  I  can 
assure  you  that  this  gentleman  is  not  Willy  Reilly.  Go,  now, 
continue  your  pursuit.  The  robber  lurks  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood.  You  know  the  reward  ;  catch  him,  and  you 
shall  have  it." 

The  constables  departed  ;  and  after  they  had  gone  the 
sheriff  said, 

"  Mr.  Reilly,  I  know  you  well  ;  but  I  would  scorn  to 
avail  myself  of  the  circumstance  which  has  thus  occurred. 
I  am  aware  of  the  motive  which  urges  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
against  you — so  is  the  whole  country.  That  penurious  and 
unprincipled  villain  is  thirsting  for  your  blood.  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, however,  has  a  rod  in  pickle  for  him,  and  he  will  be 
made  to  feel  it  in  the  course  of  time.  The  present  adminis- 
tration is  certainly  an  anti-Catholic  one  ;  but  I  understand 
it  is  tottering,  and  that  a  more  liberal  one  will  come  in. 
This  Whitecraft  has  succeeded  in  getting  some  young  profli- 
gate Catholics  to  become  Protestants,  who  have,  conse- 
quently, ousted  their  fathers  out  of  their  estates  and  prop- 
erty ;  younger  sons,  who,  by  this  act  of  treachery,  will  get 
the  estates  into  their  own  possession.  The  thing  is  mon- 
strous and  unnatural.  But  let  that  pass  ;  Whitecraft  is  on 
our  trail  in  all  directions  ;  beware  of  him,  I  say  ;  and  I 
think,  with  great  respect  to  you,  Mr.  Reilly,  it  is  extremely 
foolish  to  go  abroad  in  your  usual  apparel,  and  without  dis- 
guise." 

11  Sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  cannot  express,  as  I  would 
wish,  my  deep  gratitude  to  you  for  your  kindness  and  for- 
bearance. That  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  is  thirsting  for  my 
blood  I  know.  The  cause  of  that  vengeance  is  now  noto- 
rious." 

"  You  know  Mr.  Hastings,  Mr.  Reilly  ?" 

11  Intimately,  sir." 

11  He  took  your  property  in  his  own  name  ?" 

11  He  did,  sir  ;  he  purchased  it  in  his  own  name.  The 
property  was  hereditary  property,  and  when  my  title  to  it,  in 
point  of  law,  as  a  Catholic,  was  questioned,  and  when  one 
of  my  family,  as  a  Protestant,  put  in  his  claim  for  it,  Mr. 
Hastings  came  in  as  the  purchaser,  and  ousted  him.  The 
money  was  supplied  by  me.     The  moment,  however,  that  I 


2  04  WILLY  REILLY, 

found  Whitecraft  was  after  me,  I  immediately  surrendered 
the  whole  of  it  back  to  him  ;  so  that  Sir  Robert,  in  burning 
what  he  considered  my  property,  in  fact  burned  Mr.  Hast- 
ings'. 

11  And  I  have  reason  to  know,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  it  will  be 
the  blackest  act  of  his  guilty  life.  This,  however,  I  mention 
to  you  in  the  strictest  confidence.  Keep  the  secret,  for  if  it 
transpired  the  scoundrel  might  escape  from  the  conse- 
quences of  his  own  cruelty  and  oppression.  In  the  mean- 
time, do  you  take  care  of  yourself — keep  out  of  his  way,  and, 
as  I  said,  above  all  things,  procure  a  disguise.  Let  the  con- 
sequences be  what  they  may,  I  don't  think  the  beautiful 
Cooleen  Bawn  will  ever  marry  him." 

"  But,"  replied  Reilly,  "  is  there  no  risk  of  compulsion 
by  her  father  ?" 

11  Why,  I  must  confess  there  is,"  replied  the  sheriff  ;  "he 
is  obstinate  and  headstrong,  especially  if  opposed,  and  she 
will  find  it  necessary  to  oppose  him — and  she  will  oppose 
him.  I  myself  have  had  a  conversation  with  her  on  the 
subject,  and  she  is  firm  as  fate  against  such  a  union  ;  and  I 
will  tell  you  more,  Reilly — it  was  she  who  principally  en- 
gaged me  to  protect  you  as  far  as  I  could,  and  so  I  shall, 
you  may  rest  assured  of  it.  I  had  only  to  name  you  a  few 
minutes  ago,  and  your  fate  was  sealed.  But,  even  if  she 
had  never  spoken  to  me  on  the  subject,  I  could  not  lend 
myself  to  the  cruel  plots  of  that  villain.  God  knows,  in 
consequence  of  my  official  situation,  I  am  put  upon  tasks 
that  are  very  painful  to  me  ;  levying  fines  from  men  who  are 
harmless  and  inoffensive,  who  are  peaceable  members  of  soci- 
ety, who  teach  the  people  to  be  moral,  well  conducted,  and 
obedient  to  the  laws,  and  who  do  not  themselves  violate  them. 
Now, ' '  he  added,  ' '  be  advised  by  me,  and  disguise  yourself. ' ' 

"  Sir, "  said  Reilly,  "your  sentiments  do  you  honor  ;  I 
am  this  moment  on. my  way  to  put  on  a  disguise,  which  has 
been  procured  for  me.  I  agree  with  you  and  other  friends 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  remain  in  the  country 
in  my  own  natural  aspect  and  dress.  Allow  me,  before  I 
go,  to  express  my  sense  of  your  kindness,  and  believe  me  I 
shall  never  forget  it." 

"  The  disguise,  above  all  things,"  said  the  sheriff,  smiling 
and  holding  out  his  hand.  Reilly  seized  it  with  a  warm 
pressure  ;  they  bid  each  other  farewell,  and  so  they  parted. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  205 

Reilly  then  wound  his  way  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley, but  not  by  the  public  road.  He  took  across  the  fields, 
and,  in  due  time,  reached  her  humble  habitation.  Here  he 
found  the  disguise,  which  his  friend  Fergus  had  provided — 
a  half-worn  frieze  coat,  a  half-worn  caubeen,  and  a  half- 
worn  pair  of  corduroy  breeches,  clouted  brogues,  and  Con- 
nemara  stockings,  also  the  worse  for  the  wear,  with  two  or 
three  coarse  shirts,  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  other  portion 
of  the  disguise. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  "  how  have  you  been 
since  I  saw  you  last  ?' ' 

"  Oh,  then,  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  she,  "it's  a  miracle  from 
God  that  you  did  not  think  of  stopping  here  !  I  had 
several  visits  from  the  sogers  who  came  out  to  look  for 
you." 

11  Well,  I  suppose  so,  Mrs  Buckley  ;  but  it  was  one  com- 
fort that  they  did  not  find  me." 

"  God  be  praised  for  that  !"  replied  the  poor  woman, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes;  "it  would  a'  broken  my  heart  if 
you  had  been  catched  in  my  little  place." 

11  But,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  were  there  any  plain 
clothes  left  for  me  here  ?" 

11  Oh,  indeed  there  was,  sir,"  she  replied,  "and  I  have 
them  safe  for  you  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  I'll  go  outside, 
and  have  an  eye  about  the  country,  for  somehow  they  have 
taken  it  into  their  heads  that  this  would  be  a  very  likely 
place  to  find  you." 

While  she  was  out,  Reilly  changed  his  dress,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  underwent  such  a  metamorphosis  that  poor  Mrs. 
Buckley,  on  re-entering  the  house,  felt  quite  alarmed. 

"  Heavenly  Father  !  my  good  man,  where  did  you  come 
from?  I  thought  I  left  Mr. — "  here  she  stopped,  afraid 
to  mention  Reilly' s  name. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  I  am 
only  changed  in  outward  appearance  ;  I  am  your  true  friend 
still;  and  now  accept  this  for  your  kindness,"  placing 
money  in  her  hand. 

"  I  can't,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  you  are  under  the  persecutions, 
and  will  want  all  the  money  you  have  to  support  yourself. 
Didn't  the  thieves  of  the  devil  burn  you  out  and  rob  you, 
and  how  can  you  get  through  this  wicked  world  without 
money — keep  it  yourself,  for  I  don't  want  it." 


206  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

11  Come,  come,  Mrs.  Buckley,  I  have  money  enough  ;  you 
must  take  this  ;  I  only  ask  you  to  conceal  these  clothes  in 
some  place  where  the  hell-hounds  of  the  law  can't  find  them. 
And  now,  good-by,  Mrs.  Buckley  ;  I  shall  take  care  that, 
whatever  may  happen  me,  you  shall  not  be  disturbed  out  of 
your  little  cabin  and  your  garden." 

The  tears  ran  down  the  poor  old  woman's  cheeks, and  Reilly 
left  her  sobbing  and  crying  behind  him.  This  indeed  was 
an  eventful  day  to  him.  Strong  in  the  confidence  of  his  dis- 
guise, he  took  the  public  road,  and  had  not  gone  far  when  he 
met  a  party  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's.  To  fly  would  have 
been  instant  ruin  ;  he  accordingly  commenced  an  old  Irish 
song  at  the  very  top  of  his  lungs.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was 
not  himself  of  the  party,  but  scarcely  any  individual  was 
met  by  them  whom  they  did  not  cross-examine. 

"  Hallo,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  leader  of  the  party, 
11  what  is  that  you're  singin'?" 

Reilly  stared  at  him  like  a  man  who  was  sorely  puzzled  ; 
11  Ha  mil  bearla  agum;*  that  is,  "I  have  no  English." 

'*  Here,  Connor,  you  can  speak  Irish  ;  sift  this  able-bodied 
tyke." 

A  conversation  in  that  language  then  took  place  between 
them  which  reflected  everlasting  honor  upon  Connor,  who, 
by  the  way,  was  one  of  Reilly 's  tenants,  but  himself  and  his 
progenitors  were  Protestants  for  three  generations.  He  was 
a  sharp,  keen  man,  but  generous  and  honorable,  and  after 
two  or  three  glances  at  our  hero,  at  once  recognized  him. 
This  he  could  only  intimate  by  a  wink,  for  he  knew  that 
there  were  other  persons  there  who  spoke  Irish  as  well  as 
either  of  them.  The  dialogue,  however,  was  not  long, 
neither  was  it  kind-hearted  Connor's  wish  that  it  should  be 
so.  He  was  asked,  however,  if  he  knew  any  thing  about 
Willy  Reilly,  to  which  he  replied  that  he  did  not,  only  by 
all  accounts  he  had  left  the  country.  This,  indeed,  was  the 
general  opinion. 

"  This  blockhead,"  said  Connor,  "knows  nothing  about 
him,  only  what  he  has  heard  ;  he's  a  pig  dealer,  and  is  now 
on  his  way  to  the  fair  of  Sligo  ;  come  on." 

They  passed  onwards,  and  Reilly  resumed  his  journey  and 
his  song. 

On  reaching  the  farmer's  house  where  he  and  the  bishop 
lodged,  the   unhappy  prelate  felt  rather  annoyed  at  the  ap- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  207 

pearance  of  a  stranger,  and  was  about  to  reprove  their  host 
for  his  carelessness  in  admitting  such  persons. 

"  What  do  you  want  here,  my  good  man  ?"  inquired  the 
farmer. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  say  any  thing  to  me  ?"  asked  the  bishop. 

"  A  few  words,"  replied  Reilly;  but,  on  consideration, 
he  changed  his  purpose  of  playing  off  a  good-humored  joke  on 
his  lordship  and  the  farmer.  For  the  melancholy  prelate 
he  felt  the  deepest  compassion  and  respect,  and  apprehended 
that  any  tampering  with  his  feelings  might  be  attended  with 
dangerous  consequences  to  his  intellect.  He  consequently 
changed  his  purpose,  and  added,  "  My  lord,  don't  you 
know  me  ?" 

The  bishop  looked  at  him,  and  it  was  not  without  consid- 
erable scrutiny  that  he  recognized  him. 

In  the  meantime  the  farmer,  who  had  left  the  room  pre- 
vious to  this  explanation,  and  who  looked  upon  Reilly  as  an 
impostor  or  a  spy,  returned  with  a  stout  oaken  cudgel,  ex- 
claiming, "  Now,  you  damned  desaver,  I  will  give  you  a 
jacketful  of  sore  bones  for  comin'  to  pry  about  here.  This 
gintleman  is  a  doctor  ;  three  of  my  family  are  lying  ill  of 
faver,  and  that  you  may  catch  it  I  pray  gorra  this  day  !  but 
if  you  won't  catch  that,  you'll  catch  this,"  and  he  whirled 
the  cudgel  about  his  head,  and  most  unquestionably  it 
would  have  descended  on  Reilly 's  cranium  were  it  not  for 
the  bishop,  who  interposed  and  prevented  the  meditated 
violence. 

"  Be  quiet,  Kelly,"  said  he,  "  be  quiet,  sir  ;  this  is  Mr. 
Reilly  disguised." 

11  Troth,  I  must  look  closely  at  him  first,"  replied  Kelly  ; 
"  who  knows  but  he's  imposin'  upon  you,  Dr.  Wilson  ?" 

Kelly  then  looked  closely  into  his  face,  still  holding  a  firm 
grip  of  the  cudgel. 

"  Why,  Kelly,"  said  Reilly,  "  what  the  deuce  are  you  at  ? 
Don't  you  know  my  voice  at  least  ?" 

**  Well,"  replied  Kelly,  "  bad  luck  to  the  like  o'  that  ever 
I  see.  Holy  Moses,  Mr.  Reilly,  but  you  had  a  narrow  es- 
cape. Devil  a  man  in  the  barony  can  handle  a  cudgel  as  I 
can,  and  it  was  a  miracle,  and  you  may  thank  his  lordship 
here  for  it  that  you  hadn't  a  shirtful  of  sore  bones." 

11  Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Reilly,  "  put  up  your  cud- 
gel ;  I  really  don't  covet  a  shirtful  of  sore  bones  ;  but,  after 


2oS  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

all,  perhaps  you  would  have  found  my  fist  a  match  for  your 
cudgel." 

14  Nonsense  !"  replied  Kelly  ;  "  but  God  be  praised  that 
you  escaped  the  welting  anyhow  ;  I  would  never  forgive  my- 
self, and  you  the  friend  of  his  lordship." 

He  then  left  the  room,  his  terrific  cudgel  under  his  arm, 
and  Reilly,  after  his  absence,  related  to  the  bishop  the  events 
of  the  day,  involving,  as  they  did,  the  two  narrow  escapes 
which  he  had  had.  The  bishop  thanked  God,  and  told 
Reilly  to  be  of  good  courage,  for  that  he  thought  the  hand  of 
Providence  was  protecting  him. 

The  life  they  led  here  was,  at  all  events,  quiet  and  peace- 
able. The  bishop  was  a  man  of  singular,  indeed  of  apostolic, 
piety.  He  spent  most  of  the  day  in  meditation  and  prayer  ; 
fasting  beyond  the  powers  of  his  enfeebled  constitution  : 
and  indeed  it  was  fortunate  that  Reilly  had  accompanied 
him,  for  so  ascetic  were  his  habits  that  were  it  not  for  his 
entreaties,  and  the  influence  which  he  had  gained  over  him, 
it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  his  unfortunate  malady  might 
have  returned.  The  neighborhood  in  which  they  resided 
was,  as  we  have  said,  remote,  and  exclusively  Catholic  ;  and 
upon  Sundays  the  bishop  celebrated  mass  upon  a  little  grassy 
platform — or  rather  in  a  little  cave,  into  which  it  led.  This 
cave  was  small,  barely  large  enough  to  contain  a  table,  which 
served  as  a  temporary  altar,  the  poor  shivering  congregation 
kneeling  on  the  platform  outside.  At  this  period  of  our 
story  all  the  Catholic  chapels  and  places  of  worship  were, 
as  we  have  said,  closed  by  proclamation,  and  the  poor  people 
were  deprived  of  the  means  of  meeting  to  worship  God.  It 
had  soon,  however,  become  known  to  them  that  an  oppor- 
tunity of  public  worship  was  to  be  had  every  Sunday,  at  the 
place  we  have  described.  Messengers  had  been  sent  among 
them  with  information  to  that  effect  ;  and  the  consequence 
was  that  they  not  only  kept  the  secret,  but  flocked^  in  con- 
siderable numbers  to  attend  mass.  On  the  Sunday  following 
the  adoption  of  Reilly's  disguise,  the  bishop  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  little  cave,  or  rather  cleft,  where  a  table  had 
been  placed,  together  with  the  vestments  necessary  for  the 
ceremony.  They  found  about  two  or  three  hundred  persons 
assembled — most  of  them  of  the  humblest  class.  The  day 
was  stormy  in  the  extreme.  It  was  a  hard  frost,  and  the  snow, 
besides,  falling  heavily,  the  wind  strong,  and  raging  in  hoi- 


THE  SECRET   MA88    INTERRUPTED. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  209 

low  gusts  about  the  place.  The  position  of  the  table-altar, 
however,  saved  the  bishop  and  the  chalice,  and  the  other 
matters  necessary  for  the  performance  of  worship,  from  the 
direct  fury  of  the  blast,  but  not  altogether  ;  for  occasionally 
a  whirlwind  would  come  up,  and  toss  over  the  leaves  of  the 
missal  in  such  a  way,  and  with  such  violence,  that  the 
bishop,  who  was  now  trembling  from  the  cold,  was  obliged 
to  lose  some  time  in  finding  out  the  proper  passages.  It 
was  a  solemn  sight  to  see  two  or  three  hundred  persons 
kneeling,  and  bent  in  prostrate  and  heartfelt  adoration,  in 
the  pious  worship  of  that  God  who  sends  and  withholds  the 
storm  ;  bareheaded,  too,  under  the  piercing  drift  of  the 
thick-falling  granular  snow,  and  thinking  of  nothing  but  their 
own  sins,  and  that  gladsome  opportunity  of  approaching  the 
forbidden  altar  of  God,  now  doubly  dear  to  them  that  it 
was  forbidden.  As  the  ceremony  was  proceeding  the  bishop 
was  getting  on  to  that  portion  of  the  sacred  rites  where  the 
consecration  and  elevation  of  the  Host  are  necessary,  and  it 
was  observed  by  all  that  an  extraordinary  and  sudden  lull 
took  place,  and  that  the  rage  of  the  storm  had  altogether 
ceased.  He  proceeded,  and  had  consecrated  the  Host — 
hoc  est  corpus  meum — when  a  cry  of  terror  arose  from  the 
affrighted  congregation. 

"  My  lord,  fly,  and  save  yourself  !  Captain  Smell  priest 
and  his  gang  are  upon  us." 

The  bishop  never  once  turned  round,  nor  seemed  to  hear 
them  ;  but  Reilly  did,  and  saw  that  the  whole  congregation 
had  fled,  and  that  there  only  remained  the  bishop  and  him- 
self. 

"  Our  day  of  doom,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  is  come. 
Nothing  now  can  save  us." 

Still  the  bishop  proceeded  undisturbed  in  the  worship  of 
the  Almighty  ;  when,  lo  !  the  military  party,  headed  and  led 
on  by  the  notorious  Captain  Smellpriest,  came  thundering 
up,  the  captain  exclaiming  : 

11  You  idolatrous  Papist,  stop  that  mummery — or  you 
shall  have  twelve  bullets  in  your  heart  before  half  a  minute's 
time." 

The  bishop  had  consecrated  the  Host,  as  we  have  said, 
but  had  not  yet  had  time  to  receive  it. 

"  Men,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  you  are  all  primed  and 
Haded.     Present." 


210  WILLY  RELLLY. 

They  accordingly  did  so  ;  every  musket  was  levelled  at 
him.  The  bishop  now  turned  round,  and,  with  the  calmness 
of  a  martyr — a  calmness  and  conduct  that  were  sublime — he 
said  : 

"  Sir,  I  am  engaged  in  the  worship  of  the  Eternal  God, 
and  if  you  wish  to  shed  my  blood  I  should  rather  it  were 
here  and  now  than  in  any  other  place.  Give  me  but  a 
few  minutes — I  do  not  ask  more." 

"  Oh,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  we  will  give  you  ten,  if  you 
wish  it,  and  the  more  so  because  we  are  sure  of  you." 

When  the  bishop  turned  round  again,  after  having  received 
the  Host,  his  pale  face  had  altogether  changed  its  com- 
plexion— it  burned  with  an  expression  which  it  is  difficult  to 
describe.  A  lofty  sense  of  the  sacrifice  he  was  about  to 
make  was  visible  in  his  kindling  and  enthusiastic  eye  ;  his 
feeble  frame,  that  had  been,  during  the  ceremony  of  mass, 
shivering  under  the  effects  of  the  terrible  storm  that  howled 
around  them,  now  became  firm,  and  not  the  slightest  mark 
of  fear  or  terror  was  visible  in  his  bearing  ;  calmly  and  un- 
dauntedly he  turned  round,  and  with  a  voice  full  and  steady 
he  said  : 

"I  am  willing  to  die  for  my  religion,  but  I  say  to  you 
that  the  slaughter  of  an  inoffensive  man  at  the  foot  of 
God's  altar  will  not  smooth  the  pillow  of  your  deathbed, 
nor  of  those  who  shoot  down  a  minister  of  God  while  in 
the  act  of  worshipping  his  Creator.  My  congregation,  poor 
timid  creatures,  have  fled,  but  as  for  me,  I  will  not  !  I  dare 
not  !     Here,  now,  I  spread  out  my  arms — fire  !" 

11  I  also,"  said  Reilly,  "  will  partake  of  whatever  fate  may 
befall  the  venerable  clergyman  who  is  before  you,"  and  he 
stood  up  side  by  side  with  the  bishop. 

The  guns  were  still  levelled,  the  fingers  of  the  men  on  the 
triggers,   when  Smellpriest    shouted   out,    "  Ground  arms  ! 

By ,"  says  he,   "here  is  a  new  case;  this  fellow  has 

spunk  and  courage,  and  curse  me,  although  I  give  the  priests 
a  chase  wherever  I  can,  still  I  am  a  soldier,  and  a  man  of 
courage,  and  to  shoot  down  a  priest  in  the  worship  of  God 
would  be  cowardly.  No,  I  can't  do  it — nor  I  won't  ;  I  like 
pluck,   and  this  priest  has  shown  it.     Had  he  taken  to  his 

heels,  by ,  he  would  have  had  half  a  dozen  bullets  in 

his  rear  ;  but,  as  I  said,  I  like  pluck,  and  on  that  account 
we  shall  pass  him  by  this  time.     To  the  right  about.     As  to 


WILLY  REILLY.  21 1 

the  clerk,  by ,  he  has  shown  pluck  too,  but  be  hanged 

to  him,  what  do  we  care  about  him?11 

"We  must  say  a  word  or  two  here  about  Smellpriest.  He 
was,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  a  priest-hunter  ;  but  yet, 
with  all  his  bigotry,  he  was  a  brave  man,  and  could  appre- 
ciate courage  wherever  he  found  it.  The  reader  already 
knows  that  his  range  of  persecution  was  by  no  means  either 
so  wide  or  so  comprehensive  as  that  of  the  coward  White- 
craft.  He  was  a  dashing,  outspoken  fellow,  with  an  equal 
portion  of  boisterous  folly  and  mischief  ;  whereas  White- 
craft  was  a  perfect  snake — treacherous,  cruel,  persevering  in 
his  enmity,  and  unrelenting  in  his  vengeance.  Such  was 
the  difference  in  the  character  of  these  two  worthies. 

After  Smellpriest  had  drawn  off  his  men,  the  bishop  con- 
cluded the  ceremony  of  the  mass  ;  but  when  he  turned 
round  to  announce  its  conclusion  in  the  words,  ite}  missa  est, 
there  was  not  a  soul  before  him,  the  terrified  congregation, 
as  we  have  said,  having  all  betaken  themselves  to  flight. 
Reilly  then  assisted  him  to  unrobe,  and  placed  the  vestments, 
the  chalice,  pix,  and  every  thing  connected  with  the  cere- 
mony, in  a  pair  of  saddle-bags,  which  belonged  to  the  parish 
priest,  whose  altar  was  then  closed,  as  we  said,  by  proclama- 
tion. 

Reilly  and  the  bishop  then  proceeded  to  the  farmer's 
house,  Reilly  carrying  the  saddle-bags,  and  as  they  went 
along  the  following  conversation  took  place  between  them  : 

"  My  lord,"  said  his  companion,  "  if  I  might  presume  to 
advise  you,  I  think  it  would  be  more  prudent  for  you  to  re- 
tire to  the  Continent  for  a  time.  This  ferocious  captain, 
who,  subdued  by  the  sublime  tenor  of  your  conduct,  spared 
you  on  this  occasion,  may  not  under  other  and  less  impres- 
sive circumstances,  exercise  a  similar  forbearance." 

"  But,  my  dear  Reilly,"  replied  the  bishop,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  melancholy,  "  I  am  not  in  circumstances  to  go  to  the 
Continent  ;  I  am  poor  ;  most  of  my  available  money  I  have 
distributed  among  the  unhappy  people,  until  I  am  now 
nearly  as  poor  as  themselves  ;  but,  independently  of  that,  I 
do  not  think  it  would  be  right  to  abandon  the  charge  which 
God  has  entrusted  to  my  keeping.  The  shepherd  should 
not  desert  his  flock,  especially  in  the  moment  of  danger, 
when  the  wolves  are  abroad." 

11  But,  my  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  "  under  the  present  cir- 


212  WILLY  RELLLY. 

cumstances  of  the  country  your  residence  here  can  be  of  no 
service  to  them.  The  chapels  are  all  closed,  and  public 
worship  forbidden  by  law.  This  cannot,  and,  I  hope,  will 
not,  last  long  ;  but  in  the  meantime,  think  if  it  be  not 
wiser  in  you  to  go  for  a  time  into  what  I  may  call  a  volun- 
tary exile,  than  be  forced  into  banishment  by  a  cruel  edict 
of  the  law,  as  you  will  be  if  you  should  be  discovered." 

"  There  is  great  truth  in  what  you  say,  my  dear  Reilly, 
and  on  thinking  over  the  circumstances  of  the  country,  I  am 
indeed  of  opinion  that  your  advice  is  good  ;  but,  unfortu- 
nately, my  present  poverty  prevents  me  from  acting  on  it." 

"But  that  shall  not  be,  my  lord;  I  have  the  means — 
amply,  too — of  enabling  your  lordship  to  withdraw  to  the 
Continent,  where  you  can  remain  quite  safe  until  better  times 
return,  as  I  hope  in  God  they  will  soon." 

"  And  yourself,  Reilly  ?  why  not  accompany  me  ?  You, 
it  is  said,  are  outlawed  ;  why  then  remain  in  a  country 
where  your  danger  is  still  greater  than  mine  ?" 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  "  do  not  press  me  on  that 
subject." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  do  so,  Reilly  ;  but  here  are  the  cir- 
cumstances :  you  and  the  beautiful  daughter  of  that  old 
squire  are  attached — in  other  words,  you  love  each  other 
passionately.  Now,  you  know,  marriage  is  impossible,  un- 
less you  should  abandon  the  creed  of  your  fathers." 

11  I  think,  my  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  in  a  very  serious  and 
somewhat  offended  tone,  "  that  my  conduct  this  day,  and 
within  the  last  half  hour,  was  not  that  of  a  man  likely  to 
abandon  the  creed  of  his  fathers." 

14  Certainly  not — most  certainly  not,"  replied  the  bishop. 
11  I  would  have  died  this  day  for  my  religion,  and  so  would 
you." 

11  And  so  would  I  certainly,  my  lord,  any  day,  sooner 
than  renounce  it  for  the  love  of  woman.  So  far  let  your 
lordship's  mind  be  at  rest.  But  in  the  meantime,  let  me 
impress  upon  your  lordship's  consideration  the  absolute 
necessity  of  retiring  to  the  Continent  for  a  time.  Your 
lordship's  charity  has  made  you  poor  ;  but,  thank  God,  I 
am  not  poor — but  in  a  position  to  place  £200  in  your  hands 
to  enable  you  to  bear  the  expenses  of  your  voyage,  and  to 
maintain  your  ecclesiastical  rank  and  position  for  a  time, 
when  you  get  there." 


WILLY  REILLY.  213 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  bishop,  "  if  I  were  once  there,  very- 
little  money  would  be  necessary  ;  I  could  almost  immediately 
get  a  professorship  of  divinity,  especially  in  the  College  of 
Louvain,  where  I  held  a  professorship  for  several  years." 

It  was  arranged  that  the  bishop  should  go,  at  least  until 
the  times  should  change,  and  in  the  course  of  a  week,  Reilly 
having  furnished  him  with  the  necessary  funds,  he  departed 
and  reached  the  Continent  in  safety. 

Their  separation  was  extremely  affecting.  The  bishop 
wept  bitterly,  not  only  in  consequence  of  his  parting  with 
Reilly,  but  still  more  because  he  was  forced  to  separate 
himself  from  his  flock.  Reilly  was  deeply  affected,  nor 
could  he  restrain  his  tears.  The  bishop  put  his  hand  on 
his  head  and  blessed  him.  "  I  feel,"  said  he,  "  as  if  it  were 
a  prophetic  impulse,  that  God  will  bring  you  out  of  the  trib- 
ulations that  encompass  you.  Forget  not  his  word  nor  his 
law  ;  love  and  adhere  to  your  religion  ;  be  guided  by  its 
precepts,  let  them  sink  deeply  into  your  heart.  Take  care, 
also,  that  the  love  of  woman  shall  not  seduce  you  from  your 
allegiance  to  our  Church.  And  now,  may  the  Almighty 
God  bless  and  protect  you,  and  rescue  you  from  the  hands 
and  the  snares  of  your  enemies  !"     And  so  they  parted. 

No  stronger  proof  could  exist,  so  far  as  the  Coolcen  Baton 
was  concerned,  than  her  extraordinary  power  of  conciliating 
love  and  attachment  from  all  who  approached  her,  or  were 
engaged  in  attending  upon  her  person.  The  singular  soft- 
ness of  her  sweet  and  mellow  voice  was  in  itself  an  exponent 
of  the  remarkable  suavity  and  benignity  of  her  disposition. 
In  fact,  she  carried  a  charm  about  her — an  atmosphere  of 
kindness  and  benevolence  that  no  human  being  who  came 
within  its  influence  could  resist.  Her  smile  was  a  perfect 
fascination,  which,  in  addition  to  her  elegance  of  form — her 
grace  and  harmony  of  motion — her  extensive  charity — her 
noble  liberality  of  sentiment — and,  above  all,  her  dazzling 
beauty,  constituted  a  character  which  encircled  her  with  ad- 
miration and  something  almost  bordering  on  worship. 

At  this  time  a  scheme  came  into  the  fertile  brain  of 
Whitecraft,  worthy  of  being  concocted  only  in  the  infernal 
pit  itself.  This  was  to  prevail  on  the  squire  to  remove  her 
faithful,  attached,  and  confidential  maid,  Ellen  Connor, 
from  about  her  person,  under  the  plea  that  as,  unfortunately, 
Miss  Folliard  had  been  seduced  into  an  affection  for  Reilly, 


214  WILLY  REILLY. 

it  was  not  only  probable  that  her  attendant  had  originated 
and  encouraged  her  passion,  but  that  it  was  also  likely  that, 
as  Reilly  was  a  Catholic,  Connor,  the  confidant,  being  her- 
self of  that  persuasion,  might  so  work  upon  the  feelings  and 
principles  of  his  daughter  as  to  induce  her,  for  the  sake  of 
the  more  easily  bringing  about  their  marriage,  to  abandon 
her  own  religion,  and  embrace  that  of  her  lover.  The  old 
man  became  instantly  alarmed,  and,  with  his  usual  fiery  im- 
petuosity, lost  not  a  moment  in  dismissing  her  altogether 
from  his  family. 

When  this  faithful  girl  found  that  she  was  about  to  be  sep- 
arated from  her  fair  and  affectionate  young  mistress,  no  lan- 
guage could  depict  the  violence  of  her  grief,  nor  could  that 
mistress  herself  refuse  the  tribute  of  her  tears  to  her  sense 
of  the  loss  which  she  knew  she  must  sustain  by  her  absence 
at  a  crisis  when  she  stood  so  much  in  need  of  her  friendship 
and  attachment. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  for  myself,  my  dear  mistress,  that  I  feel 
this  grief,"  exclaimed  Connor,  weeping  bitterly  as  she  spoke, 
"  but  for  you.  Here  you  will  be  alone,"  she  proceeded, 
"  without  one  being  on  whom  you  can  depend,  or  to  whom 
you  can  open  your  heart — for  many  a  time  you  eased  that 
poor  heart  by  telling  me  of  your  love  for  him,  and  by 
dwellin'  upon  his  accomplishments  and  beauty — and,  in- 
deed, it's  no  wonder  you  should,  for  where,  oh  !  where  is 
his  aiquil  to  be  found  ?  Like  yourself,  every  one  that  comes 
near  him  must  love  him  ;  and,  like  you,  again,  isn't  he 
charity  itself  to  the  poor,  no  matter  what  their  creed  may 
be — oh,  no  !  it's  he  that  is  neither  the  bigot  nor  the  oppres- 
sor, although  God  he  knows  what  he  himself  is  sufferin* 
from  both.  God's  curse  on  that  blasted  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  !  I  declare  to  mercy,  I  think,  if  I  was  a  man,  that  I'd 
shoot  him,  like  a  mad  dog,  and  free  the  country  of  him  at 
wanst." 

The  Cooleen  was  herself  in  tears,  occasioned  by  such  a 
glowing  picture  of  her  lover,  as  well  as  by  the  loss  of  this 
faithful  and  devoted  girl.  Yet  she  could  not  repress  a  smile 
at  the  indignation  expressed  by  Ellen  against  the  man  whom 
she  looked  upon  with  such  detestation  and  abhorrence. 

11  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  she,  drying  her  tears,  "  we  must 
only  have  patience.  Every  thing  is  in  the  hands  of  God, 
and  in  him  let  us  trust.     Do  not  weep  so.     It  is  true  that, 


WILLY  REILLY.  215 

without  your  society,  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a  desert,  or 
rather,  I  should  say,  in  a  dungeon  ;  for,  indeed,  I  fear  that  I 
am  about  to  become  a  prisoner  in  my  father's  house,  and 
entangled  more  and  more  every  day  in  the  meshes  of  that 
detestable  villain.  In  the  meantime,  we  must,  as  I  said, 
have  courage  and  patience,  and  trust  to  a  change  of  circum- 
stances for  better  times." 

"  May  the  Lord  in  heaven  grant  them  soon  and  sudden, 
for  both  your  sakes,"  ejaculated  Ellen.  "  I  pray  the  Sav- 
iour that  he  may  !" 

11  But,  Ellen,"  said  the  Coolecn,  "  didn't  you  hint  to  me, 
once  or  twice,  that  you  yourself  have,  or  had,  a  lover  named 
Reilly  ?" 

11  I  did,"  she  replied,  "  not  that  I  have,  but  that  I  had — 
and,  what  is  more,  an  humble  and  distant  relation  of  his." 

"  You  say  you  had.  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Ellen  ? 
Have  you,  too,  experienced  your  crosses  and  calamities  ?" 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  I  have  had  my  share  ;  and  I  know  too 
well  what  it  is  to  have  the  heart  within  as  full  of  sorrow,  and 
all  but  broken.'' 

11  Why,  my  poor  girl,  and  have  you  too  experienced  dis- 
appointment and  affliction  ?" 

"  God,  ma'am,  has  given  me  my  share  ;  but,  in  my  case, 
the  affliction  was  greater  than  the  disappointment,  although 
that  too  came  soon  enough  upon  me." 

11  Why,  did  not  the  affliction,  in  your  case,  proceed  from 
the  disappointment  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,  miss,  but  indeed  partly  it  did.  It's  but  a 
short  story,  my  dear  mistress,  and  I'll  tell  it  to  you.  Fergus 
is  his  name — Fergus  O'Reilly.  His  father,  for  doin'  some- 
thing or  other  contrary  to  the  laws — harborin'  some  outlaw, 
I  believe,  that  was  a  relation  of  his  own,  and  who  was  found 
by  the  army  in  his  house — well,  his  father,  a  very  ould  man, 
was  taken  prisoner,  and  put  into  jail,  where  he  died  before 
they  could  try  him  ;  and  well  it  was  he  did  so,  for,  by  all 
accounts,  they'd  have  transported  or  hanged  the  poor  ould 
man,  who  was  then  past  seventy.  Now,  over  and  above  that, 
they'd  have  done  the  same  thing  with  his  son  Fergus,  but 
that  he  disappeared  and  but  few  knows  what  became  of  him. " 

"  Why,  did  he  go  without  having  had  an  interview  with 
you  ?"  asked  the  Cooleen. 

"  Indeed  he  did,  miss,  and  small  blame  to  him  ;  for  the 


2i6  WILLY  REILLY. 

truth  is,  he  had  little  time  for  leave takin' — it  was  as  much 
as  he  could  do  to  make  his  escape,  which,  thank  God,  he 
did.  But,  indeed,  I  oughtn't  to  thank  God  for  it,  I  doubt, 
because  it  would  have  been  better,  and  ten  times  more  cred- 
itable to  himself,  if  he  had  been  transported,  or  hanged  it- 
self— for  that,  ma'am,  is  many  a  good  man's  case,  as  every- 
one knows." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Ellen.  There  is,  indeed,  a  most  essen- 
tial difference  between  flagitious  crimes,  such  as  theft,  rob- 
bery, murder,  and  other  dreadful  outrages  of  that  character, 
and  those  which  may  be  termed  offences  arising  from  politi- 
cal opinions,  which  are  often  honestly  entertained  by  indi- 
viduals who,  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  are  sometimes  the 
most  exemplary  members  of  society.  But  proceed,  Ellen — 
what  was  the  result  ?" 

Poor  Ellen's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  could  scarcely 
summon  composure  enough  to  reply  : 

"  Worse  than  transportation  or  even  death,  my  dear  mis- 
tress ;  oh  !  far  worse — guilt  and  crime.  Yes  :  he  that 
had  gained  my  affections,  and  gave  me  his,  joined  the  Red 
Rapparee  and  his  gang,  and  became — a  robber.  I  was 
goin'  to  say  an  outlaw,  but  he  was  that  before  he  joined 
them,  because  he  wouldn't  submit  to  the  laws — that  is, 
wouldn't  submit  to  be  transported,  or  maybe  hanged — or 
you  know,  ma'am,  how  little  a  thing  it  is  that  will  either 
hang  or  transport  any  one  of  our  unfortunate  creed  now." 

"  Alas  !  my  dear  Ellen,  you  forget  that  I  am  a  living  wit- 
ness of  it,  and  an  afflicted  one  ;  but  proceed.  Have  you 
ever  seen  your  lover  since  ?" 

"  I  did,  ma'am,  but  at  that  time  he  mentioned  nothing 
about  his  havin'  joined  the  Rapparees.  He  came,  he  said, 
to  bid  me  farewell,  and  to  tell  me  that  he  wasn't  worthy  of 
me.  '  The  stain  that's  upon  me,'  said  he,  '  draws  a  gulf 
between  you  and  me  that  neither  of  us  can  ever  pass.'  He 
could  scarcely  speak,  but  he  dashed  away  the  tears  that 
came  to  his  eyes — and — and — so  he  took  his  departure. 
Now,  my  dear  young  mistress,  you  see  how  well  I  can  un- 
derstand your  case,  and  the  good  reason  I  have  to  feel  for 
you,  as  I  do,  and  ever  will,  until  God  in  his  mercy  may  set 
you  both  free  from  what  you're  sufferin'." 

11  But,  are  you  certain,  Ellen,  that  he  actually  has  joined 
the  Rapparees  ?" 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  217 

"  Too  sure,  ma'am — too  sure  ;  my  father  had  it  in  private 
from  his  own  lips,  for,  as  the  poor  boy  said,  he  hadn't  the 
courage  himself  to  tell  me." 

"But,  Ellen,"  asked  Miss  Folliard,  "where  had  you  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  and  becoming  acquainted  with  this 
young  man  ?  You  surely  could  not  have  known  him,  or 
conceived  an  attachment  for  him,  previous  to  your  coming 
to  reside  with  us  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am,"  replied  Ellen  ;  "  it  was  at  my  father's 
I  became  acquainted  with  him,  principally  whenever  I  got 
lave  to  spend  a  Sunday  at  home.  And  now,  my  dear  mis- 
tress," she  proceeded,  sobbing,  "  I  must  go — your  poor, 
faithful  Ellen  will  never  let  you,  nor  the  thought  of  your 
sorrows,  out  of  her  heart.  All  she  can  do  now  is  to  give  you 
her  prayers  and  her  tears.  Farewell  !  my  darlin'  mistress 
— may  the  blessing  of  God  guard  and  prosper  you  both,  and 
bring  you  to  the  happiness  you  deserve."  She  wept  bit- 
terly as  she  concluded. 

"  Ellen,"  replied  her  mistress,  and  she  paused — "  Ellen," 
said  she  again — she  would,  indeed,  have  spoken,  but,  after 
a  silent  struggle,  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief, 
and  was  fairly  carried  away  by  her  emotions —  "  Ellen," 
said  she,  taking  her  hand,  and  recovering  herself,  "  be  of 
courage  ;  let  neither  of  us  despair — a  brighter  light  may 
shine  on  our  path  yet.  Perhaps  I  may  have  it  in  my 
power  to  befriend  you,  hereafter.  Farewell,  Ellen  ;  and  if 
I  can  prevail  on  my  father  to  bring  you  back,  I  will."  And 
so  they  parted. 

Connor's  father  was  a  tenant  of  the  squire's,  and  held 
rather  a  comfortable  farm  of  about  eighteen  or  twenty  acres. 
Ellen  herself  had,  when  very  young,  been,  by  some  accident 
or  other,  brought  within  the  notice  of  Mrs.  Folliard,  who, 
having  been  struck  by  her  vivacity,  neatness  of  figure,  and 
good  looks,  begged  permission  from  her  parents  to  take  the 
little  girl  under  her  care,  and  train  her  up  to  wait  upon  her 
daughter.  She  had  now  been  eight  years  in  the  squire's 
family — that  is,  since  her  fourteenth — and  was  only  two 
years  older  than  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  who  was  now,  and  had 
been  for  the  last  three  years,  her  only  mistress.  She  had 
consequently  grown,  as  it  were,  into  all  her  habits,  and  we 
may  justly  say  that  there  was  not  an  individual  in  existence 
who  had  a  better  opportunity  of  knowing  and  appreciating 


21S  WILLY  A' LILLY. 

her  good  qualities  and  virtues  ;  and,  what  was  much  to  her 
honor,  she  never  for  a  moment  obtruded  her  own  private 
sorrows  upon  the  ear  or  heart  of  her  mistress,  who,  she  saw, 
had  a  sufficient  number  of  her  own  to  bear. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  she  took  farewell  of  her 
mistress,  and  twilight  had  come  on  ere  she  had  got  within  half 
mile  of  her  father's  house.  On  crossing  a  stile  which  led, 
by  a  pathway,  to  the  little  hamlet  in  which  her  father  lived, 
she  was  both  surprised  and  startled  by  perceiving  Fergus 
Reilly  approach  her.  He  was  then  out  of  his  disguise,  and 
dressed  in  his  own  clothes,  for  he  could  not  prevail  upon 
himself  to  approach  her  father's  house,  or  appear  before 
any  of  the  family,  in  the  tattered  garb  of  a  mendicant.  On 
this  occasion  he  came  to  tell  them  that  he  had  abandoned 
the  gang  of  the  Red  Rapparee,  and  come  to  the  resolution 
of  seeking  his  pardon  from  the  Government,  having  been 
informed  that  it  offered  protection  to  all  who  would  come 
in  and  submit  to  the  laws,  provided  they  had  not  been  guilty 
of  shedding  human  blood.  This  intelligence,  however,  was 
communicated  to  the  family,  as  a  means  of  preparing  them 
for  still  more  important  information  upon  the  subject  of  his 
own  liberty — a  matter  with  which  the  reader  will  soon  be- 
come acquainted,  as  he  will  with  the  fact  of  his  having  left 
off  his  disguise  only  for  a  brief  period.  In  the  meantime, 
he  felt  perfectly  conscious  of  the  risk  he  ran  of  a  failure  in 
the  accomplishment  of  his  own  project,  by  throwing  off  his 
disguise,  and  was  then  hastening  on  his  way  to  the  cottage 
of  widow  Buckley,  where  he  had  left  his  mendicant  apparel 
for  the  time  being. 

When  Ellen  saw  him  she  felt  a  tumult  in  her  bosom 
which  almost  overcame  her.  Her  heart  palpitated  almost 
audibly,  and  her  knees  became  feeble  under  her.  There 
was  something  so  terrible  associated  with  the  idea  of  a  Rap- 
paree that  she  took  it  for  granted  that  some  frightful  trans- 
formation of  person  and  character  must  have  taken  place  in 
him,  and  that  she  would  now  meet  a  man  thoroughly  im- 
bued with  all  the  frightful  and  savage  vices  which  were  so 
frequently,  and  too  often  so  generally,  attributed  to  that 
fierce  and  formidable  class.  Still,  the  recollection  of  their 
former  affection,  and  her  knowledge  of  the  oppression  which 
had  come  upon  himself  and  his  family,  induced  her  to  hope 
that  the  principles  of  humanity  could  not  have  been  alto- 


WILLY  REILLY.  219 

gether  effaced  from  his  heart.  Full  of  doubt  and  anxiety, 
therefore,  she  paused  at  the  stile,  against  which  she  felt  it 
necessary  to  lean  for  support,  not  without  a  touch  of  inter- 
est and  somewhat  of  curiosity,  to  control  the  vague  appre- 
hensions which  she  could  not  help  feeling.  We  need 
scarcely  inform  the  reader  that  the  meeting  on  both  sides 
was  accidental  and  unexpected. 

"  Heavenly  Father  !"  exclaimed  Ellen,  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  agitation,  "  is  this  Fergus  O'Reilly  that  I  see  be- 
fore me  ?  Fergus,  ruined  and  undone  !"  She  then  looked 
cautiously  about  her,  and  added,  "  Fergus,  the  Rapparee  /" 

"  God  bless  me!"  he  exclaimed  in  return,  "  and  may  I 
ask,  is  this  Ellen  Connor  on  my  path  ?" 

"  Well,  I  think  I  may  say  so,  in  one  sense.  Sure 
enough,  I  am  Ellen  Connor  ;  but,  unfortunately,  not  the 
Ellen  Connor  that  you  wanst  knew  ;  neither,  unfortunately 
again,  are  you  the  Fergus  O'Reilly  that  I  wanst  knew. 
We  are  both  changed,  Fergus — I  into  sorrow,  and  you  into 
crime." 

"  Ellen,"  said  he,  nearly  as  much  agitated  as  herself,  "  I 
stand  before  you  simply  as  Fergus  O'Reilly,  but  not  Fergus 
the  Rapparee." 

11  You  will  not  deny  your  own  words  to  my  father,"  she 
replied. 

"  No,  Ellen,  I  will  not — they  were  true  t/ie/i,  but,  thank 
God,  they  are  not  true  now." 

"  How  is  that,  Fergus  ?" 

11  Simply  because  I  was  a  Rapparee  when  I  spoke  to  your 
father  ;  but  I  have  left  them,  once  and  for  ever." 

"  How  long  have  you  left  them  ?" 

11  Ever  since  that  night.  If  it  were  not  for  Reilly  and 
those  that  were  out  with  him  duck-shooting,  the  red  villain 
would  have  murdhered  the  squire  and  Andy  Cummiskey,  as 
sure  as  there  is  life  in  my  body.  After  all,  it  is  owin'  to  Mr. 
Reilly  that  I  left  him  and  his  cursed  crew.  And  now, 
Ellen,  that  I  have  met  you,  let  me  spake  to  you  about  ould 
times.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  heart  sorry  for  the  step  I 
took  ;  but  you  know  it  was  oppression  and  persecution  that 
drove  me  to  it." 

11  Fergus,"  she  replied,  "  that's  no  excuse.  Persecution 
may  come  upon  us,  but  that's  no  reason  why  we  should 
allow  it  to  drive  us  into  evil  and  crime.     Don't  you  know 


220  WILLY  REILLY. 

that  it's  such  conduct  that  justifies  the  persecutors  in  their 
own  eyes  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  What  will  become 
of  you  now  ?  If  you're  caught,  you  must  die  a  shameful 
death." 

11  Devil  a  fear  of  it,  my  darlin'  Ellen.  I  could  tell  you 
something,  if  I  thought  myself  at  liberty  to  do  so — some- 
thing mavourneen,  that  'ud  give  you  a  light  heart." 

"Indeed,  Fergus,  I  don't  wish  to  hear  any  of  your 
secrets.  It's  my  opinion  they  would  not  be  fit  for  me  to 
hear.  But  in  the  mane  time,"  she  added — prompted  by  the 
undying  principle  of  female  curiosity,  and,  let  us  add,  a 
better  and  more  generous  feeling — "  in  the  mane  time,  Fer- 
gus, if  it's  any  thing  about  yourself,  and  that  it  would  give 
me  a  light  heart,  as  you  say  it  would,  and  that  there  is  noth- 
ing wrong  and  dishonorable  in  it,  I  would,  for  your  sake,  be 
glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Well  then,  Ellen,  I  will  tell  it  ;  but  it  must,  for  rea- 
sons that  there's  no  use  in  mentionin'  to  you,  be  a  secret 
between  us,  for  some  time — not  a  long  time,  I  hope.  I  am, 
thank  God,  free  as  the  air  of  heaven,  and  may  walk  abroad, 
openly,  in  the  face  of  day,  if  I  like,  without  any  one  darin' 
to  ask  me  a  question." 

14  But,  Fergus,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  don't  undherstand  this. 
You  were  a  robber — a  Rapparee — and  now  you  are  a  free 
man.  But  what  did  you  do  to  deserve  this  at  the  hands  of 
the  Government  ?" 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  darlin'  Ellen — nothing  unbe- 
comin'  an  honest  man." 

"  I  hope,"  she  proceeded — her  cheeks  mantling  with  in- 
dignation and  scorn — "  I  hope,  Fergus,  you  wouldn't  think 
of  stoopin'  to  treachery  against  the  unfortunate,  ay,  or  even 
against  the  guilty.  I  hope  you  wouldn't  sell  yourself  to  the 
Government,  and  get  your  liberty,  afther  all,  only  as  a  bribe 
for  villany,  instead  of  a  free  gift." 

11  See,  now,"  he  returned,  "  what  I  have  brought  on  my- 
self by  tellin'  you  any  thing  at  all  about  it — a  regular  ould 
house  on  my  shouldhers.  No,  darlin',"  he  proceeded, 
"  you  ought  to  know  me  better." 

"  Oh,  Fergus,"  she  replied  quickly,  "  I  thought  I  knew 
you  wanst. ' ' 

11  Is  that  generous,  Ellen  ?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep  and 
melancholy  feeling,  "  afther  statin'  my  sorrow  for  that  step  ?" 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  221 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  moved  by  what  she  saw  he  suffered 
in  consequence  of  her  words,  "  if  I  have  given  you  pain, 
Fergus,  forgive  me — you  know  it's  not  in  my  nature  to  give 
pain  to  any  one,  but,  above  all  persons  in  the  world,  to 
you." 

"Well,  darlin',"  said  he,  "you  will  know  all  in  time; 
but  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be  done  yet.  All  I  can  say,  and 
all  I  will  say,  is,  that  if  God  spares  me  life,  I  will  take  away 
one  of  the  blackest  enemies  that  Willy  Reilly  and  the  Coolecn 
Bawn  has  in  existence.  He  would  do  any  thing  that  the  vil- 
lain of  perdition  he's  a  slave  to  would  bid  him.  Now,  I'll 
say  no  more  ;  and  I'm  sure,  as  the  friend  of  your  beautiful 
mistress,  the  fair  Cooleen  Bawn,  you'll  thank  me  for  what  I 
have  promised  to  do  against  the  Red  Rapparee." 

11  I  will  pry  no  further  into  your  affairs  or  intentions,  Fer- 
gus ;  but,  if  you  can  take  danger  out  of  the  way  of  the  Coo- 
leen Bawn  or  Reilly,  I  will  forgive  you  a  great  deal — every 
thing,  indeed,  but  treachery  or  dishonor.  But,  Fergus,  I 
have  something  to  mention  that  will  take  a  start  out  of  you. 
I  have  been  discharged  by  the  squire  from  his  family,  and — 
mavrone,  oh  ! — I  can  now  be  of  no  service  to  the  Cooleen 
Bawn. ' ' 

"  Discharged  !"  replied  Fergus  with  astonishment ;  "  why, 
how  did  that  come  ?  But  I  suppose  I  needn't  ask — some  of 
the  mad  old  Squire's  tantrums,  I  suppose  ?  And  what  did 
the  Cooleen  Bawn  herself  say  ?" 

11  Why,  she  cried  bitterly  when  I  was  lavin'  her  ;  indeed 
if  I  had  been  her  sister  she  couldn't  feel  more  ;  and,  as 
might  be  expected  from  her,  she  promised  to  befriend  me 
as  long  as  she  had  it  in  her  power  ;  but,  poor  thing,  if  mat- 
ters go  against  her,  as  I'm  af eared  they  will — if  she's  forced 
to  marry  that  villain,  it's  little  for  any  thing  that's  either 
good  or  generous  ever  she'll  have  in  her  power  ;  but  marry 
him  she  never  will.  I  heard  her  say  more  than  wanst  that 
she'd  take  her  own  life  first  ;  and  indeed  I'm  sartain  she 
will,  too,  if  she's  forced  to  it.  Either  that,  or  she'll  lose 
her  senses  ;  for,  indeed,  Fergus,  the  darlin'  girl  was  near 
losin'  them  wanst  or  twic't  as  it  is — may  God  pity  and  re- 
lieve her." 

"Amen,"  replied  Fergus.  "And  you're  now  on  your 
way  home,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  every  thing  belongin'  to  me  is 


222  WILLY  REILLY. 

to  be  sent  to  my  father's  ;  but  indeed,  Fergus,  I  don't  much 
care  now  what  becomes  of  me.  My  happiness  in  this  world 
is  bound  up  in  hers  ;  and  if  she's  to  be  sunk  in  grief  and 
sorrow,  I  can  never  be  otherwise — we'll  have  the  one  fate, 
Fergus,  and  God  grant  it  may  be  a  happy  one,  although  I 
see  no  likelihood  of  it." 

"Come,  come,  Ellen,"  replied  Fergus,  "you  think  too 
much  of  it.  The  one  fate  !  No,  you  won't,  unless  it  is  a 
happy  one.  I  am  now  free,  as  I  said  ;  and  at  present  I  see 
nothing  to  stand  between  your  happiness  and  mine.  We 
loved  one  another  every  bit  as  well  as  Reilly  and  she  does — 
ay,  and  do  still,  I  hope  ;  and  if  they  can't  be  happy,  that's 
no  raison  why  you  and  I  shouldn't.  Happy  !  There's 
nothing  to  prevent  us  from  bein'  so.  I  am  free,  as  I  said  ; 
and  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  lave  this  unfortunate  country  and 
go  to  some  other,  where  there's  neither  oppression  nor  per- 
secution. If  you  consent  to  this,  Ellen,  I  can  get  the  means 
of  bringing  us  away,  and  of  settlin'  comfortably  in  America." 

"  And  I  to  leave  the  Cooleen  Bawn  in  the  uncertain  state 
she's  in?     No,  never,  Fergus — never." 

11  Why  ?  of  what  use  can  you  be  to  her  now,  and  you  sep- 
arated from  her — ay,  and  without  the  power  of  doin'  any 
thing  to  sarve  her  ?" 

"  Fergus,"  said  she,  resolutely,  "  it's  useless  at  the  pres- 
ent time  to  speak  to  me  on  this  subject.  I'm  glad  you've 
got  yourself  from  among  these  cruel  and  unconscionable 
Rapparees — I'm  glad  you're  free  ;  but  I  tell  you  that  if  you 
had  the  wealth  of  Squire  Folliard — ay,  or  of  Whitecraft  him- 
self, which  they  say  is  still  greater,  I  wouldn't  become  your 
wife  so  long  as  she's  in  the  state  she's  in." 

11  That's  strong  language,  Ellen,  and  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it 
from  you.  My  God  !  can  you  think  of  nobody's  happiness 
but  the  Cooleen  Bawiis?  As  for  me,  it's  my  opinion  I  like 
Reilly  as  well  every  bit  as  you  do  her  ;  but,  for  all  that,  not 
even  the  state  he's  in,  nor  the  danger  that  surrounds  him, 
would  prevent  me  from  marrvin'  a  wife — from  bindin'  your 
heart  and  mine  together  for  life,  my  darlin'  Ellen." 

"  Ah  !  Fergus,  you're  a  man — not  a  woman — and  can't 
undherstand  what  true  attachment  is.  You  men  never  can. 
You're  a  selfish  set — at  least  the  most  of  you  are — with 
some  exceptions,  I  grant." 

"And,    upon  my  soul,    Ellen,"    replied   Fergus,   with  a 


WILLY  REILLY.  223 

good-humored  smile,  "  I'm  one  of  the  choicest  and  natest 
of  the  exceptions.  I  prefer  everybody's  happiness  to  my 
own — poor  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's,  for  instance.  Now, 
don't  you  call  that  generosity  ?" 

She  gave  a  mournful  smile,  and  replied,  "  Fergus,  I 
can't  join  in  your  mirth  now  as  I  used  to  do.  Many  a 
pleasant  conversation  we've  had  ;  but  then  our  hearts  were 
light,  and  free  from  care.  No,  Fergus,  you  must  lave  all 
thoughts  of  me  aside,  for  I  will  have  nothing  of  either  love 
or  courtship  till  I  know  her  fate.  Who  can  say  but  I  may 
be  brought  back  ?  She  said  she'd  try  what  she  could  do 
with  her  father  to  effect  it.  You  know  how  whimsical  the 
old  Squire  is  ;  and  who  knows  whether  she  may  not  stand 
in  need  of  me  again  ?  But,  Fergus,  there's  one  thing 
strikes  me  as  odd,  and,  indeed,  that  doesn't  rise  you  much 
in  my  good  opinion.  But  first,  let  me  ask  you,  what  friend 
it  is  who'd  give  you  the  means  of  going  to  another  coun- 
try ?" 

11  Why,  who  else  but  Reilly  ?"  he  replied. 

"  And  could  you,"  she  returned,  with  something  like 
contempt  stamped  upon  her  pretty  features — "  could  you  be 
mane  and  ungrateful  enough  to  leave  him  now  in  the  trouble 
and  sorrow  that  he's  in,  and  think  only  of  yourself  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  my  dear  Ellen  ;  but  I  was  only  layin'  the 
plan  whenever  we  might  be  able  to  put  it  in  practice. 
I'm  not  exactly  a  boy  of  that  kidney — to  desart  my  friend 
in  the  day  of  his  trouble  — devil  a  bit  of  it,  my  darlin'." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  as  you  do,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile  ;  "  and  now,  to  reward  your  constancy  to 
him,  I  tell  you  that  whenever  they're  settled,  or,  at  all 
events,  out  of  their  troubles,  if  you  think  me  worth  your 
while,  I  won't  have  any  objection  to  become  your  wife  ; 
and — there — what  are  you  about,  Fergus  ?  See  this,  now — 
you've  almost  broken  the  tortoise-shell  crooked-comb  that 
she  made  me  a  present  of." 

"  Why,  blood  alive,  Ellen,  sure  it  was  only  sealin'  the 
bargain  I  was. ' ' 

11  But  remember  it  is  a  bargain,  and  one  I'll  stick  to. 
Now  leave  me  ;  it's  gettin'  quite  dark  ;  or,  if  you  like,  you 
may  see  me  across  the  fields." 

Such,  in  fact,  was  the  indomitable  attachment  of  this 
faithful   girl  to  her  lovely  and    affectionate    mistress  that, 


224  WILLY  REILLY. 

with  a  generosity  as  unselfish  as  it  was  rare,  and  almost 
heroic,  she  never  for  a  moment  thought  of  putting  her  own 
happiness  or  prospects  in  life  in  competition  with  those  of 
the  Cooleen  Bawn.  The  latter,  it  is  true,  was  conscious  of 
this  unparalleled  attachment,  and  appreciated  it  at  its  true 
value.  How  nobly  this  admirable  girl  fulfilled  her  generous 
purpose  of  abiding  by  the  fate  and  fortunes  of  her  unhappy 
mistress  will  be  seen  as  the  narrative  goes  along. 

Ellen's  appearance  in  her  father's  house  surprised  the 
family  not  a  little.  The  expression  of  sorrow  which  shaded 
her  very  handsome  features,  and  a  paleness  which  was  un- 
usual to  her,  alarmed  them  considerably — not  so  much  from 
any  feeling  connected  with  herself,  as  from  an  apprehension 
that  some  new  distress  or  calamity  had  befallen  the  Cooleen 
Bawn,  to  whom  they  all  felt  almost  as  deeply  attached  as 
she  did  herself.  After  the  first  affectionate  salutations  were 
over,  she  said,  with  a  languid  smile  : 

"  I  suppose  you  all  wonder  to  see  me  here  at  this  hour  ; 
or,  indeed,  to  see  me  here  at  all." 

"  I  hope,  Ellen,"  said  her  father,  "  that  nothing  unpleas- 
ant has  happened  to  her." 

"  May  the  Lord  forbid,"  said  her  mother,  "  and  may  the 
Lord  take  the  darlin'  creature  out  of  all  her  troubles.  But 
has  there,  Ellen — has  anything  happened  to  her  ?" 

"  Nothing  more  than  usual,"  replied  their  daughter, 
"  barring  that  I  have  been  sent  away  from  her — I  am  no 
longer  her  own  maid  now." 

"  Chierna  /"  exclaimed  her  mother  ;  "  and  what  is  that 
for,  alanna  V ' 

"Well,  indeed,  mother,  I  can't  exactly  say,"  replied 
Ellen,  "  but  I  suppose  it  is  because  they  knew  I  loved  her 
too  much  to  be  a  spy  upon  her.  I  have  raison,  however,  to 
suspect  that  the  villain  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  that  the 
girl  who  came  in  my  place  will  act  more  like  a  jailer  than  a 
maid  to  her.  Of  course  they're  all  afraid  that  she'll  run 
away  with  Reilly. ' ' 

"  And  do  you  think  she  will,  Ellen  ?"  asked  her  father. 

"  Don't  ask  me  any  such  questions,"  she  replied.  "  It's 
no  matter  what  I  think — and,  besides,  it's  not  my  business 
to  mention  my  thoughts  to  any  one — but  one  thing  I  know, 
it'll  go  hard  if  she  ever  leaves  her  father,  who,  I  really 
think,  would  break  his  heart  if  she  did." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  225 

11  Oh  !"  observed  the  father,  with  a  smile,  "  divil  a  one 
o'  you  girls,  Ellen,  ever  thinks  much  of  father  or  mother 
when  you  have  made  up  your  minds  to  run  away  wid  your 
bouchaleens — sorra  a  taste. ' ' 

"  Arra,  Brian,  will  you  have  sinse, "  said  his  wife  ;  "  why 
wouldn't  they  think  o'  them  ?" 

"  Did  you  do  it  ?"  he  asked,  winking  at  the  rest,  "  when 
you  took  a  brave  start  wid  myself  across  Crockaniska,  one 
summer  Sunday  night,  long  ago.  Be  me  sowl,  you  proved 
yourself  as  supple  as  a  two-year-old — cleared  drain  and 
ditch  like  a  bird — and  had  me,  when  we  reached  my  uncle's, 
that  the  eyes  wor  startin'  out  o'  my  head." 

"  Bad  scran  to  him,  the  ould  slingpoker  !  Do  you  hear 
him,"  she  exclaimed,  laughing — "  never  mind  him,  children  ! 
— troth,  he  went  at  sich  a  snail's  pace  that  one  'ud  think  it 
was  to  confession  he  was  goin',  and  that  he  did  nothing  but 
think  of  his  sins  as  he  went  along." 

"  That  was  bekaise  I  knew  that  I  had  the  penance  before 
me,"  he  replied,  laughing  also. 

"Any  how,"  replied  his  wife,  "our  case  was  not  like 
their' s.  We  were  both  Catholics,  and  knew  that  we'd  have 
the  consent  of  our  friends,  besides  ;  we  only  made  a  run- 
away because  it  was  the  custom  of  the  counthry,  glory  be  to 
God  !" 

"Ay,  ay,"  rejoined  her  husband;  "but,  faith,  it  was 
you  that  proved  yourself  the  active  girl  that  night,  at  any 
rate.  However,  I  hope  the  Lord  will  grant  her  grace  to  go 
wid  him,  at  all  events,  for,  upon  my  sowl,  it  would  be  a 
great  boast  for  the  Catholics — bekaise  we  know  there  is  one 
thing  sure,  and  that  is,  that  the  divil  a  long  she'd  be  wid 
him  till  he'd  have  left  her  fit  to  face  Europe  as  a  Christian 
and  a  Catholic,  bekaise  every  wife  ought  to  go  wid  her  hus- 
band, barrin'  he's  a  Prodestant." 

Poor  Ellen  paid  little  attention  to  this  conversation.  She 
felt  deeply  depressed,  and,  after  many  severe  struggles  to 
restrain  herself,  at  last  burst  into  tears. 

"  Come,  darlin',"  said  her  father,  "  don't  let  this  affair 
cast  you  down  so  much  ;  all  will  yet  turn  out  for  the  bet- 
ther,  I  hope.  Cheer  up,  avillish  ;  maybe  that,  down-hearted 
as  you  are,  I  have  good  news  for  you.  Your  ould  sweet- 
heart was  here  this  evenin',  and  hopes  soon  to  have  his  par- 
don— he's  a  dacent  boy,  and  has  good  blood  in  his  veins  ; 


226  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

and  as  for  his  joinin'  O'Donnel,  it  wasn't  a  bad  heart  set 
him  to  do  it,  but  the  oppression  that  dricv  him,  as  it  did 
many  others,  to  take  the  steps  he  took — oppression  on  the 
one  side,  and  bitterness  of  heart  on  the  other." 

11  I  saw  him  awhile  ago,"  she  replied,  "  and  he  tould  me 
a  good  deal  about  himself.  But,  indeed,  father,  it's  not  of 
him  I'm  thinkin',  but  on  the  darlin'  girl  that's  on  the  brink 
of  destruction,  and  what  I  know  she's  sufferin'." 

"  I  wondher  where  Reilly  is,"  said  her  mother.  "  My 
goodness  !  sure  he  ought  to  make  a  push,  and  take  her  off 
at  wanst.  I  dunna  is  he  in  the  country  at  all  ?  What  do 
you  think,  Ellen  ?" 

"Indeed,  mother,"  she  replied,  "very  few,  I  believe, 
knows  any  thing  about  him.  All  I'm  afraid  of  is,  that, 
wherever  he  may  be,  he'll  hardly  escape  discovery." 

"Well,"  said  her  father,  "I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
Let  us  kneel  down  and  offer  up  ten  pathers,  ten  aves,  and  a 
creed,  that  the  Lord  may  protect  them  both  from  their  ene- 
mies, and  grant  them  a  happy  marriage,  in  spite  of  laws, 
parliaments,  magistrates,  spies,  persecutors,  and  priest-hunt- 
ers, and,  as  our  hands  are  in,  let  us  offer  up  a  few  that  God 
may  confound  that  villain,  Whitecraft,  and  bring  him  snugly 
to  the  gallows." 

This  was  immediately  complied  with,  in  a  spirit  of  ear- 
nestness surpassing  probably  what  they  might  have  felt  had 
they  been  praying  for  their  own  salvation.  The  prayers 
having  been  concluded,  and  supper  prepared,  in  due  time 
the  family  retired  to  rest  for  the  night. 

When  Fergus  Reilly  took  his  leave  of  Ellen,  he  directed 
his  steps  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Buckley,  where,  for  certain 
purposes  connected  with  his  designs  on  the  Red  Rapparee, 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting  the  sagacious  fool,  Tom 
Steeple.  It  was  there,  besides,  that  he  had  left  his  disguise, 
which  the  unaccomplished  progress  of  his  projects  rendered 
it  necessary  that  he  should  once  more  resume.  This,  in 
fact,  was  the  place  of  their  rendezvous,  where  they  generally 
met  at  night.  These  meetings,  however,  were  not  always 
very  regular,  for  poor  Tom,  notwithstanding  his  singular 
and  anomalous  cunning,  was  sometimes  led  away  by  his 
gastric  appetite  to  hunt  for  a  bully  dinner,  or  a  bully  sup- 
per, or  a  mug  of  strong  beer,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  after 
a  gorge  he  was  frequently  so  completely  overtaken  by  lazi- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  227 

ness  and  a  consequent  tendency  to  sleep,  that  he  retired  to 
the  barn,  or  some  other  outhouse,  where  he  stretched  his 
limbs  on  a  shake-down  of  hay  or  straw,  and  lapped  himself 
into  a  state  of  luxury  which  many  an  epicure  of  rank  and 
wealth  might  envy. 

On  reaching  the  widow's  cottage,  Fergus  felt  somewhat 
disappointed  that  Tom  was  not  there,  nor  had  he  been  seen 
that  day  in  any  part  of  the  neighborhood.  Fergus,  how- 
ever, whilst  the  widow  was  keeping  watch  outside,  contrived 
to  get  on  his  old  disguise  once  more,  after  which  he  pro- 
ceeded in  the  direction  of  his  place  of  refuge  for  the  night. 
On  crossing  the  fields,  however,  towards  the  wild  and  lonely 
road,  which  was  at  no  great  distance  from  the  cottage,  he 
met  Tom  approaching  it,  at  his  usual  sling-trot  pace. 

"  Is  that  Tom  ?"   said  he—4'  tall  Tom  ?" 

11  Hicco,  hicco  !"  replied  Tom,  quite  gratified  with  the 
compliment.  "  You  be  tall,  too — not  as  tall  as  Tom 
dough.  Tom  got  bully  dinner  to-day,  and  bully  sleep  in  de 
barn,  and  bully  supper,  but  wasn't  sleepy  den — hicco, 
hicco." 

11  Well,  Tom,  what  news  about  what  you  know  ?" 

1 '  In  toder  house, ' '  replied  Tom  ;  ' *  him  sleeps  in  Peg  Fini- 
gan's  sometimes,  and  sometimes  in  toder  again — dat  is,  Mary 
Mahon's.  '  Him's  afeared  o'  something — hard  him  say  to, 
sure,  to  ould  Peg." 

11  Well,  Tom,  if  you  will  keep  your  eye  on  him,  so  as  that 
you  can  let  us  know  where  to  find  him,  we'll  engage  to  give 
you  a  bully  dinner  every  day,  and  a  bully  supper  every  night 
of  your  life,  and  a  swig  of  stout  ale  to  wash  it  down,  with 
plenty  of  straw  to  sleep  on,  and  a  winnow-cloth  and  lots  of 
sacks  to  keep  you  as  warm  and  cosey  as  a  winter  hob.  You 
know  where  to  find  me  every  evenin'  after  dusk,  Tom,  and 
when  you  come  with  good  news,  you'll  be  a  made  man  ; 
and,  listen,  Tom,  it'll  make  you  a  foot  taller,  and  who 
knows,  man  alive,  but  we  may  show  you  for  a  giant,  now." 

11  Hicco,  hicco  !"  said  Tom  ;  "dat  great — nevermind  ;  me 
catch  him  for  you.  A  giant  ! — oh,  gorramarcy  ! — a  giant  ! 
— hicco  ! — gorramarcy  !"  and  with  these  words  he  darted 
off  in  some  different  direction,  whilst  Fergus  went  to  his 
usual  place  of  rest  for  the  night. 

It  would  seem  by  the  Red  Rapparee's  movements  at  this 
time  as  if  he  entertained  some  vague  suspicions  of  awakened 


228  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

justice,  notwithstanding  the  assurances  of  safety  previously 
communicated  to  him  by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  Indeed,  it 
is  not  impossible  that  even  the  other  individuals  who  had 
distinguished  themselves  under  that  zealous  baronet  might, 
in  their  conversations  with  each  other,  have  enabled  the 
Rapparee  to  get  occasional  glimpses  of  the  new  state  of 
things  which  had  just  taken  place,  and  that,  inconsequence, 
he  shifted  about  a  good  deal,  taking  care  never  to  sleep  two 
nights  in  succession  under  the  same  roof.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  the  eye  of  Tom  Steeple  was  on  him,  without  the  least 
possible  suspicion  on  his  part  that  he  was  nnder  his  surveil- 
lance. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

REILLY    TAKES    SERVICE    WITH    SQUIRE    FOLLIARD. 

REILLY  led  a  melancholy  life  after  the  departure  of  the 
pious  bishop.  A  week,  however,  had  elapsed,  and  he 
felt  as  if  it  had  been  half  a  year.  His  anxiety,  however, 
either  to  see  or  hear  from  his  Cooleen  Bawn  completely 
overcame  him,  and  he  resolved,  at  all  events,  to  write  to  her  ; 
in  the  meantime,  how  was  he  to  do  this  ?  There  was  no 
letter-paper  in  the  farmer's  house,  nor  any  to  be  procured 
within  miles,  and,  under  those  circumstances,  he  resolved  to 
pay  a  visit  to  Mr.  Brown.  After  some  trouble  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  presence  of  that  gentleman,  who  could  scarcely 
satisfy  himself  of  his  identity  ;  but,  at  length,  he  felt  as- 
sured, and  asked  him  into  the  study. 

"  My  dear  Reilly, "  said  he,  "I  think  you  are  infatuated. 
I  thought  you  had  been  out  of  the  country  long  before  this. 
Why,  in  heaven's  name,  do  you  remain  in  Ireland,  when 
you  know  the  difficulty  of  escape  ?  I  have  had,  since  I  saw 
you  last,  two  or  three  domiciliary  visits  from  Whitecraft  and 
his  men,  who  searched  my  whole  house  and  premises  in  a 
spirit  of  insolence  that  was  most  indelicate  and  offensive. 
Hastings  and  I  have  sent  a  memorial  to  the  Lord  Lieuten- 
ant, signed  by  some  of  the  most  respectable  Protestant 
gentry  in  the  country,  in  which  we  stated  his  wanton 
tyranny  as  well  as  his  oppression  of  his  Majesty's  subjects 


WILLY  RELLLY.  229 

—harmless  and  loyal  men,  and  whom  he  pursues  with  unsa- 
lable vengeance,  merely  because  they  are  Roman  Catholics. 
I  certainly  do  not  expect  that  our  memorial  will  be  attended 
to  by  this  Administration.  There  is  a  report,  however, 
that  the  present  Ministry  will  soon  go  out,  and- be  succeeded 
by  one  more  liberal." 

"Well,"  replied  Reilly,  "since  I  saw  you  last  I  have 
had  some  narrow  escapes  ;  but  I  think  it  would  be  difficult 
to  know  me  in  my  present  disguise." 

"  I  grant  that,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "  but  then  is  there 
nothing  to  be  apprehended  from  treachery  ?" 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  the  other.  "  There  is  only  the 
farmer  and  his  family,  with  whom  the  bishop  and  I  har- 
bored, who  are  aware  of  my  disguise,  and  to  that  number  I 
must  now  add  yourself." 

"Well,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  smiling,  "I  do  not  think 
you  have  much  to  apprehend  from  me." 

"  No,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  have  given  me  too  many  sub- 
stantial proofs  of  your  confidence  for  that.  But  I  wish  to 
write  a  letter  ;  and  I  have  neither  pen,  ink,  nor  paper  ;  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  lend  me  the  use  of  your  study  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  your  writing  materials  ?" 

The  excellent  clergyman  immediately  conducted  him  to 
the  study,  ^nd  placed  the  materials  before  him  with  his  own 
hands,  after  which  he  left  the  room.  Reilly  then  sat  down, 
and  penned  the  following  letter  to  his  dear  Cooleen  Bawn  : 

"  I  am  now  thoroughly  disguised,  indeed  so  effectually 
that  my  nearest  and  dearest  friends  could  not  know  me  ;  nay, 
I  question  whether  even  you  yourself  would,  except  by  the 
keen  intuition  of  affection,  which  is  said  to  penetrate  all  dis- 
guises, unless  those  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy.  These, 
however,  are  disguises  I  have  never  worn,  nor  ever  shall 
wear — either  to  you  or  any  human  being.  I  had  intended 
to  go  to  the  Continent  until  this  storm  of  persecution  might 
blow  over  ;  but  on  reflection  1  changed  my  purpose,  for  I 
could  not  leave  you  to  run  the  risk  of  being  ensnared  in  the 
subtle  and  treacherous  policy  of  that  villain.  It  is  my  in- 
tention to  visit  your  father's  house  and  to  see  you  if  I  can. 
You  need  not,  for  the  sake  of  my  safety,  object  to  this,  be- 
cause no  one  can  know  me.  The  description  of  my  dress, 
though  somewhat  undignified,  I  must  give  you.  In  the  first 
place,  then,  I  am,  to  all  outward  appearance,  as  rude-looking 


230  WILLY  REILLY, 

a  country  lout  as  ever  you  looked  upon.  My  disguise  con- 
sists, first,  of  a  pair  of  brogues  embroidered  with  clouts,  or 
what  is  vulgarly  denominated  patches,  out  of  the  point  of 
one  of  which — that  of  the  right  foot — nearly  half  my  toe 
visibly  projects.  The  stockings  are  coarse  Connemaras, 
with  sufficient  air-holes,  both  in  feet  and  legs,  to  admit  the 
pure  atmosphere,  and  strengthen  the  muscular  system.  My 
small-clothes  are  corduroys,  bought  from  a  hard-working 
laborer,  with  a  large  patch  upon  each  knee.  A  tailor,  how- 
ever, has  promised  to  get  some  buttons  for  them  and  sew 
them  on.  The  waistcoat  is  altogether  indescribable  ;  be- 
cause, as  its  materials  seem  to  have  been  rescued,  that  is, 
stolen,  from  all  the  scarecrows  in  the  country,  I  am  unable 
to  come  at  the  first  fabric.  The  coat  itself  is  also  beauti- 
fully variegated,  its  patches  consisting  of  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow,  with  two  or  three  dozen  that  never  appeared  in 
that  beautiful  phenomenon.  But  what  shall  I  say  of  the 
pendiment,  or  caubeen,  which  is  a  perfect  gem  of  its  kind  ? 
The  villain  who  wore  it,  I  have  been  told  by  the  person 
who  acted  as  factor  for  me  in  its  purchase,  was  one  of  the 
most  quarrelsome  rascals  in  Ireland,  and  seldom  went  with- 
out a  black  eye  or  a  broken  pate.  This,  I  suppose,  ac- 
counts for  the  droop  in  the  leaf,  which  covers  the  left  eye 
so  completely,  as  well  as  for  the  ventilator,  which  so  admi- 
rably refreshes  the  head,  and  allows  the  rain  to  come  in  so 
abundantly  to  cool  it.  I  cannot  help  reflecting,  however, 
on  the  fate  of  those  who  have  nothing  better  to  wear,  and 
of  the  hard  condition  which  dooms  them  to  it.  And  now, 
my  beloved  Coolee?i  Bawn,  whilst  I  have  thus  endeavored  to 
make  you  smile,  I  assure  you  I  have  exaggerated  very  little. 
This  dress,  you  know,  is  precisely  that  of  a  wretched  Con- 
naught-man  looking  for  employment.  The  woman  who 
will,  through  our  confidant,  Lanigan,  deliver  this  to  you,  is 
a  poor  faithful  creature,  a  pensioner  of  mine,  who  may  be 
trusted.  Appoint  through  her  a  day  and  hour  when,  as  a 
man  seeking  for  labor,  I  will  stand  at  the  hall-door.  I  am 
quite  satisfied  that  neither  your  father,  nor  the  villain,  will 
know  me  from  Adam.  The  woman  who  is  to  bring  this  will 
call  on  the  second  day  after  its  delivery,  and  I  shall  be 
guided  by  whatever  message  you  may  send  me.  On  one 
thing,  however,  I  am  determined,  which  is,  that  if  it  should 
cost  me  my  life,  I  will  prevent  the  meditated  marriage  be- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  231 

tween  you  and  him.  Sooner  than  such  an  event  should  take 
place,  I  would  put  a  pistol  to  his  head  and  blow  his  guilty 
soul  into  that  perdition  which  awaits  it.  Don't  write  ;  let 
your  message  be  verbal,  and  destroy  this." 

On  going  to  widow  Buckley's,  he  learned — after  some 
trouble  in  identifying  himself — that  she  had  several  visits 
from  Sir  Robert  and  his  men,  at  all  hours,  both  by  night 
and  day.  He  therefore  hastily  gave  her  the  necessary  in- 
structions how  to  act,  and,  above  all  things,  to  ask  to  see 
Lanigan,  and,  if  possible,  to  bring  some  eggs  or  chickens 
for  sale,  which  fact,  he  said,  would  give  a  color  to  her  ap- 
pearance there,  and  prevent  the  possibility  of  any  suspicion. 
Having  placed  the  letter  in  her  keeping,  together  with  some 
silver  to  enable  her  to  purchase  either  the  eggs  or  the  chick- 
ens, in  case  she  had  them  not  herself,  he  then  returned  to 
the  farmer's,  where  he  remained  quietly  and  without  dis- 
turbance of  any  kind  until  the  third  day,  when  widow 
Buckley  made  her  appearance.  He  brought  her  out  to  the 
garden,  because  in  discussing  matters  connected  with  his 
Cooleen  Baton  he  did  not  wish  that  even  the  farmer's  family 
should  be  auditors — although  we  may  say  here  that  not 
only  were  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and  Cooleen  Baivn 
known  to  the  farmer  and  his  family,  but  also  to  the  whole 
country,  and,  indeed,  through  the  medium  of  ballads,  to  the 
greater  portion  of  the  kingdom. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  **  did  you  see  her  ?" 

"  Oh,  bad  scran  to  you,  Mr.  Reilly  !  you're  the  very  sarra 
among  the  girls  when  you  could  persuade  that  lovely  crea- 
ture to  fall  in  love  with  you — and  you  a  Catholic,  an'  her  a 
Protestant  !  May  I  never,  if  I  think  there's  her  aquil  out 
o'  heaven  !  Devil  an  angel  I  think  in  it  could  hould  a 
candle  to  her  for  beauty  and  figure.  She  only  wants  the 
wings,  sir — for  they  say  that  all  the  angels  have  wings  ; 
and  upon  my  conscience  if  she  had  them  I  know  the  man 
she'd  fly  to." 

11  But  what  happened,  Mrs.  Buckley  ?" 

"  Why,  I  sould  some  chickens  and  eggs  to  the  cook,  who 
at  wanst  knew  me,  because  I  had  often  sould  him  chickens 
and  eggs  before.  He  came  up  to  the  hall-door,  and — '  Well, 
Mrs.  Buckley,'  says  he,  'what's  the  news?'  '  Be  dhe 
husthj  says  I,  '  before  I  sell  you  the  chickens,  let  me  ax  is 
the  Cooleen  Bawn  at  home  ? '     '  She  is,'  says  he,  lookin'  me 


232  WILLY  REILLY, 

sharp  and  straight  in  the  face  ;  '  do  you  want  her  ?'  '  I 
would  like  to  see  her,'  says  I,  '  for  a  minute  or  two.'  '  Ay,' 
says  he,  back  agin  to  me,  '  you  have  a  message — and  you 
know  besides  that  she  never  buys  chickens  ;  that's  my  busi- 
ness.' '  But,'  says  I,  back  agin,  '  I  was  tould  by  him  that 
you  were  faithful,  and  could  be  depinded  on.'  '  Ay,'  says 
he;  'but  I  thought  he  had  left  the  counthry.'  'Troth, 
then,'  says  I,  '  he's  to  the  fore  still,  and  won't  lave  the 
counthry  till  he  sees  her  wanst  more,  at  all  events.'  '  Have 
you  a  letther  ? '  *  BethershinJ  says  I,  'could  you  let  me 
see  her  ;  for  he  tould  me  to  say  to  her  that  she  is  not  to  indite 
letthers  to  him,  for  fraid  of  discovery.'  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  as 
the  masther's  at  home,  I'll  have  some  difficulty  in  spakin' 
to  her.  Devil  a  move  she  gives  but  he  watches  ;  and  we  got 
a  new  servant  the  other  day,  and  devil  a  thing  she  is  but  a 
spy  from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  some  people  say  that 
her  masther  and  she  forgot  the  Gospel  between  them.  In- 
deed I  believe  that's  pretty  well  known  ;  and  isn't  he  a 
horrid  villain  to  send  such  a  vagabone  to  attend  and  be 
about  the  very  woman  that  he  expects  to  be  his  own  wife  ? '  " 

"  Don't  be  so  particular  in  your  descriptions,  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley," said  Reilly.      "  Did  you  see  the  Cooleen  Baiunf 

"  Look  at  that,"  she  replied,  opening  her  hand,  and 
showing  him  a  golden  guinea — "  don't  you  know  by  that 
that  I  seen  her  ?  but  you  must  let  me  go  on  my  own  way. 
'  Well,'  says  Lanigan,  the  cook,  '  I  must  go  and  see  what  I 
can  do.'  He  then  went  upstairs,  and  contrived  to  give  her 
a  hint,  and  that  was  enough.  '  The  Lord  bless  us,  Mr. 
Reilly,  what  won't  love  do  ?  This  girl — as  Lanigan  tould 
me — that  the  villain  Whitecraft  had  sent  as  a  spy  upon  her 
actions,  was  desired  to  go  to  her  wardrobe,  to  pick  out  from 
among  her  beautiful  dresses  one  that  she  had  promised  her 
as  a  present  some  days  before.  The  cook  had  this  from 
the  girl  herself,  who  was  the  sarra  for  dress  ;  but,  anyhow, 
while  the  she  spy  was  tumbling  about  Cooleen  Bawn  s  dresses, 
the  darlin'  herself  whipped  downstairs,  and  coming  to  me 
says,  '  The  cook  tells  me  you  have  a  message  for  me.'  Jist 
at  this  moment,  and  after  she  had  slipped  the  letter  into  her 
bosom,  her  father  turns  a  corner  round  the  garden,  and 
seeing  his  daughter,  which  was  a  very  unusual  thing,  in  con- 
versation with  a  person  like  myself,  he  took  the  alarm  at 
once.      '  How,  Helen  ?  who  is  this  you  are  speaking  to  ?     No 


WILLY  REILLY.  233 

go-between,  I  hope  ?  Who  are  you,  you  blasted  old  she 
whelp  ?'  '  I  am  no  more  a  she  whelp  than  you  are.'  '  Then 
maybe  you  are  a  he  one  in  disguise.  What  brought  you 
here  ? '  '  Here  !  I  came  to  sell  my  eggs  and  my  chickens,  as  I 
done  for  years.'  '  Your  eggs  and  your  chickens!  curse 
you,  you  old  Jezebel,  did  you  ever  lay  the  eggs  or  hatch  the 
chickens  ?  And  if  you  did,  why  not  produce  the  old  cock 
himself,  in  proof  of  the  truth  of  what  you  say  ?  I'll  have 
you  searched,  though,  in  spite  of  your  eggs  and  chickens. 
Here,'  he  said  to  one  of  the  footmen,  who  was  passing 
through  the  hall — '  here,  Jones,  send  up  Langian,  till  we  see 
whether  he  knows  this  old  faggot,  who  has  the  assurance  to 
tell  me  that  she  lays  eggs  and  hatches  chickens.'  When 
Lanigan  came  up  again,  he  looked  at  me  as  at  an  ould  ac- 
quaintance, which,  in  point  of  fact,  we  were.  '  Why,  your 
honor,'  said  he,  '  this  is  a  poor,  honest  creature  that  has  been 
selling  us  eggs  and  chickens  for  many  years.'  '  She 
wouldn't  be  a  go-between,  Langian — eh  ?  What's  your 
name,  you  old  faggot — eh  ? '  '  My  name  is  Scrahag,  your 
honor, '  says  I,  '  one  of  the  Scrahags  of  Ballycumpiatee — an 
honest  and  dacint  family,  sir  ;  but  if  your  honor  would  buy 
the  eggs,  at  any  rate,  and  hatch  them  yourself,'  says  I  to 
him"  (for  she  had  a  large  stock  of  Irish  humor),  "  '  you 
know,  sir,  you  could  have  the  chickens  at  first  cost.'  '  Ha, 
ha,  ha,'  and  the  squire  laughed  till  he  nearly  split  his  sides  ; 

'  by I'm  hit  ' — God  pardon  me  for  repeatin'  his  oaths, 

1  Here,  Lanigan,  bring  her  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  give 
her  a  fog  meal.'  'I  understand  you,  sir,'  said  Lanigan, 
smiling  at  him.  '  Yes,  Lanigan  give  her  a  cargo  of  the  best 
in  the  pantry.  She's  a  shrewd  and  comical  old  blade,'  said 
he  ;  '  give  her  a  kegful  of  beef  or  mutton,  or  both,  and  a 
good  swill  of  ale  or  porter,  or  whatever  she  prefers.  Curse 
me,  but  I  give  the  old  whelp  credit  for  the  hit  she  gave  me. 
Pay  her,  besides,  whatever  she  asks  for  her  eggs  and  chick- 
ens. Here,  you  bitter  old  randletree,  there  are  three  thir- 
teens  for  you  ;  and  if  you  will  go  down  to  the  kitchen  with 
the  cook,  he  will  give  you  a  regular  skinful. '  The  cook, 
knowing  that  the  Cooleen  Bawn  wished  to  send  some  mes- 
sage back  to  you,  sir,  brought  me  down,  and  gave  me  not 
only  plenty  to  ait  and  drink,  but  stuffed  the  praskeen  that  I 
had  carried  the  eggs  and  chickens  in  with  as  much  cold  meat 
and  bread  as  it  could  contain." 


234  WILLY  REILLY. 

11  Well,  but  did  you  not  see  her  afterwards  ?  and  did  she 
send  no  message  ?" 

11  Only  two  or  three  words  ;  the  day  afther  to-morrow,  at 
two  o'clock,  come  to  look  for  labor,  and  she  will  contrive  to 
see  you." 

This  was  enough,  and  Reilly  did  not  allow  his  ambassa- 
dress to  leave  him  without  substantial  marks  of  his  bounty 
also. 

When  the  old  squire  went  to  his  study,  he  desired  the 
gardener  to  be  sent  for,  and  when  that  individual  entered, 
he  found  his  master  in  a  towering  passion. 

"What  is  the  reason,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "that  the 
garden  is  in  such  a  shameful  state  ?  I  declare  to  God  it  is 
scandalous." 

"  Ou,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson,  who  was  a  Scotch- 
man, "  e'en  because  you  will  not  allow  me  an  under-ger- 
dener.  No  one  man  could  manage  your  gerden,  and  it 
canna  be  managed  without  some  clever  chiel,  what  under- 
stands the  sceence." 

"The  what?" 

"  The  sceence,  your  honor." 

"Why,  confound  you,  sir,  what  science  is  necessary  in 
gardening  ?" 

' '  I  tell  your  honor  that  the  management  of  a  gerden  re- 
quires baith  skeel  and  knowledge,  and  feelosophy. " 

"  Why,  confound  you,  sir,  again,  what  kind  of  doctrine 
is  this  ?" 

"  It's  vara  true  doctrine,  sir.  You  have  large  and  spa- 
cious green-hooses,  and  I  wad  want  some  one  to  assist  me 
wha  understands  buttany." 

"  Buttony — buttony — why,  confound  you,  sirra,  send  for 
a  tailor,  then,  for  he  understands  buttony." 

"  I  see  your  honor  is  detarmined  to  indulge  in  a  jocular 
spirit  the  day.  The  truth  is,  your  honor,  I  hae  no  men  to 
assist  me  but  common  laborers,  who  are  athegether  ignorant 
of  gerdening  ;  now,  if  I  had  a  man  who  could  direct  the 
operations' — " 

"  Operations  !  curse  your  Scotch  impudence,  do  you  think 
yourself  a  general  ?" 

"  Na,  na,  sir  ;  but  a  better  man  ;  and  I  tell  ye  that  I 
winna  remain  in  your  service  unless  I  get  an  assistant  ;  and 
I  say  that,  if  it  werena  for  the  aid  of  Miss  Folliard,  I  wouldna 


WILLY  REILLY.  235 

been  able  to  keep  the  green-hoose  e'en  in  its  present  state. 
She  has  trailed  the  passion-flower  wi'  her  ain  hands  until 
it  is  flourishing.  Then  she  has  a  beautiful  little  plot  of  for- 
get-me-nots ;  but,  above  a',  it  wad  do  your  honor's  heart 
gude  to  see  the  beautiful  bed  she  has  of  sweet-william  and 
love-lies-bleeding. ' ' 

11  Ay,  ay  !  love-lies-bleeding  ;  no  doubt  but  she'll  take 
care  of  that.  Well,  go  and  get  an  under-gardener  wherever 
you  can,  and  let  my  garden  be,  at  all  events,  such  as  a 
stranger  can  walk  through,  and  such  as  becomes  my  name 
and  property.  Engage  such  a  person,  give  him'  whatever 
you  consider  fair  wages,  and  the  house-steward  will  pay  him 
weekly.  These  are  matters  I  can't  trouble  myself  with  now 
— I  have  other  things  to  think  of." 

On  the  day  mentioned  in  Cooleen  Bawris  message,  Reilly 
hazarded  a  visit  to  the  squire's  house,  and  after  giving  a 
single  knock,  begged  to  see  the  cook.  The  porter  having 
looked  at  him  with  the  usual  contempt  which  menials  of  his 
class  bestow  upon  poor  persons,  went  down  to  the  kitchen 
with  a  good  deal  of  reluctance,  and  told  the  cook,  with  a 
grin,  that  one  of  his  relations  wanted  to  see  him. 

11  Well,"  replied  Lanigan,  who  had  been  made  aware  of 
the  intended  visit,  "  it's  wonderful,  in  these  hard  times,  the 
number  x>i  respectable  but  reduced  families  that's  goin' 
about.  What  kind  of  a  gentleman  is  he,  John  ?  because  I 
am  very  busy  now.  To  be  sure  there  is  a  great  deal  of  cold 
vittles  left,  that  would  be  lost  and  destroyed  if  we  didn't 
give  them  to  the  poor  ;  and  you  know  the  masther,  who  is  a 
charitable  man,  desired  us  to  do  so.  I'll  go  up  and  see 
what  the  poor  devil  wants." 

He  accordingly  went  up  to  the  hall-door,  and  found  Reilly 
there.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  he  had  been  already  ap- 
prised of  his  disguise  —it  was  so  complete  that  he  did  not 
know  him — his  beard  was  half  an  inch  long  ;  and,  besides, 
Reilly,  knowing  the  risk  he  ran  in  this  daring  adventure, 
had  discolored  his  complexion  with  some  wash  that  gave  it 
the  tinge  of  a  mulatto.     The  cook  was  thunderstruck. 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  not  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree recognizing  him,  "  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

"  Lanigan,"  replied  Reilly,  "  don't  you  know  me  ?" 

11  Know  you  !  how  the  devil  should  I  know  you  ? — I  never 
saw  you  before.     What  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 


236  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Lanigan,"  whispered  the  other,  "  did  you  never  hear  of 
Willy  Reilly  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did  ;  have  you  any  message  from  him  ?" 

"  I  am  the  man  myself,"  said  Reilly,  "  but  you  don't 
know  me,  I  am  so  completely  disguised.  Don't  you  know 
my  voice  ?" 

11  Merciful  Father  !"  said  the  cook,"  I'm  in  a  doldrum  ; 
can  I  be  sure  that  you  don't  come  from  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  the  notorious  blackguard  ?" 

11  Lanigan,  /  am  Willy  Reilly  ;  my  voice  ought  to  tell  you 
so  ;  but  I  wish  to  see  and  speak  with  my  dear  Cooleen 
Bawn.** 

"Oh,  my  God,  sir  !"  replied  Lanigan,  "but  this  love 
makes  strange  transmigrations.     She  won't  know  you,  sir." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy  on  that  point,"  replied  Reilly  ; 
"  only  let  her  know  that  1  am  here.' 

"  Come  down  to  the  kitchen  then,  sir,  and  I  shall  put  you 
into  the  servants'  hall,  which  branches  off  it.  It  is  entered, 
besides,  by  a  different  door  from  that  of  the  kitchen,  and 
while  you  stay  there — and  you  can  pass  into  it  without  going 
through  the  kitchen — I  will  try  to  let  her  know  where  you 
are.  She  has  at  present  a  maid  who  was  sent  by  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  and  she  is  nothing  else  than  a  spy  ;  but  it'll  go 
hard,  or  I'll  baffle  her." 

He  accordingly  placed  Reilly  in  the  servants'  hall,  and  on 
his  way  to  the  drawing-room  met  Miss  Folliard  going  to  her 
own  apartment,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  front  of  the 
house.  He  instantly  communicated  to  her  the  fact  of  Reilly's 
presence  in  the  servants'  hall;  "but,"  added  Lanigan, 
"  you  won't  know  him — his  own  mother,  if  she  was  livin', 
wouldn't  know  a  bone  in  his  body." 

"  Oh  !"  she  replied,  whilst  her  eyes  flashed  fearfully,  in 
fact,  in  a  manner  that  startled  the  cook — "  oh  !  if  he  is  there 
I  shall  soon  know  him.  He  has  a  voice,  I  think — he  has  a 
voice  !     Has  he  not,  Lanigan  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Lanigan,  "  he  has  a  voice,  and  a 
heart  too." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "  I  must  go  to  him  ;  they  want 
to  marry  me  to  that  monster — to  that  bigot  and  persecutor, 
on  this  very  day  month  ;  but,  Lanigan,  it  shall  never  be — 
death  a  thousand  times  sooner  than  such  a  union.  If  they 
attempt  to  bind  us,  death  shall  cut  the  link  asunder — that  I 


WILLY  RELLLY.  237 

promise  you,  Lanigan.     But  I  must  go  to  him — I  must  go 
to  him." 

She  ran  down  the  stairs  as  she  spoke,  and  Lanigan,  having 
looked  after  her,  seemed  deeply  concerned. 

11  My  God  !"  he  exclaimed,  "what  will  become  of  that 
sweet  girl  if  she  is  forced  to  marry  that  wealthy  scoundrel  ? 
I  declare  to  my  God  I  hardly  think  she  is  this  moment  in 
her  proper  senses.  There's  a  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  some- 
thing in  her  manner,  that  I  never  observed  before.  At  all 
events,  I  have  locked  the  door  that  opens  from  the  kitchen 
into  the  servants'  hall,  so  that  they  cannot  be  interrupted 
from  that  quarter." 

When  the  Cooleen  Bawn  entered,  she  shrunk  back  instinct- 
ively. The  disguise  was  so  complete  that  she  could  not  impose 
even  on  her  imagination  or  her  senses.  The  complexion 
was  different,  in  fact,  quite  sallow  ;  the  beard  long,  and  the 
costume  such  as  we  have  described  it.  There  was,  in  fact, 
something  extremely  ludicrous  in  the  meeting.  Here  was 
an  elegant  and  beautiful  young  woman  of  fashion,  almost 
ready,  as  it  were,  to  throw  herself  in  the  arms  of  a  common 
pauper,  with  a  beard  upon  him  better  than  half  an  inch 
long.  As  it  was,  she  stopped  suddenly  and  retreated  a  step 
or  two,  saying,  as  she  did  so  : 

"  This  must  be  some  mistake.     Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Helen  !" 

11  Reilly  !  oh,  that  voice  has  set  all  right.  But,  my  God, 
who  could  know  you  in  this  disguise  ?" 

They  approached,  and  Reilly,  seizing  her  hand,  said,  "  I 
will  shake  hands  with  you  ;  but  until  this  disguise  is  off  I 
would  consider  it  sacrilege  to  approach  nearer  to  your  per- 
son." 

11  No  disguise  can  ever  shut  you  out  from  my  heart,  dear 
Reilly  ;  but  what  is  to  be  done  ?  I  have  discovered,  by  one 
of  my  maids,  who  overheard  my  father  say,  in  a  short  solil- 
oquy— '  Well,  thank  God,  she'll  be  Sir  Robert's  wife  within 
a  month,  and  then  my  mind  will  be  easy  at  last.'  Oh  !  I'm 
glad  you  did  not  leave  this  country.  But,  as  I  said,  what  is 
to  be  done  ?     What  will  become  of  us  ?" 

"  Under  our  peculiar  circumstances,"  replied  Reilly,  "  the 
question  cannot,  for  the  present  at  least,  be  answered.  As 
for  leaving  the  country,  I  might  easily  have  done  it,  but  I 
could  not  think  of  leaving  you  to  the  snares  and  windings 


238  WILLY  REILLY. 

of  that  villain.     I  declare  solemnly  I  would  rather  die  than 
witness  a  union  between  you  and  him." 

11  But  what,  think  you,  should  I  feel  ?  You  would  be 
only  a  spectator  of  the  sacrifice,  whereas  I  should  be  the 
victim." 

11  Do  not  be  cast  down,  my  love  ;  whilst  I  have  life,  and 
a  strong  arm,  it  shall  never  be.  Before  I  go  I  shall  make 
arrangements  with  Lanigan  when  and  where  to  see  you 
again." 

11  It  will  be  a  matter  of  some  difficulty,"  she  replied,  "  for 
I  am  now  under  the  strictest  surveillance.  I  am  told,  and  I 
feel  it,  that  Whitecraft  has  placed  a  spy  upon  all  my  mo- 
tions." 

"  How  is  that  ?"  inquired  Reilly.  "  Are  you  not  under 
the  protection  of  your  father,  who,  when  occasion  is  neces- 
sary, has  both  pride  and  spirit  ?" 

11  But  my  poor  credulous  father  is,  notwithstanding,  easily 
imposd  on.  I  know  not  exactly  the  particulars,"  replied 
the  lovely  girl,  "  but  I  can  easily  suspect  them.  My  father 
it  was,  certainly,  who  discharged  my  last  maid,  Ellen  Con- 
nor, because,  he  said,  he  did  not  like  her,  and  because,  he 
added,  he  would  put  a  better  and  a  more  trustworthy  one  in 
her  place.  I  cannot  move  that  she  is  not  either  with  me  or 
after  me  ;  nay,  I  cannot  write  a  note  that  she  does  not  im- 
mediately acquaint  papa,  who  is  certain  to  stroll  into  my 
apartment  and  ask  to  see  the  contents  of  it,  adding,  '  Helen, 
when  a  young  lady  of  rank  and  property  forms  a  clandestine 
and  disgraceful  attachment  it  is  time  that  her  father  should 
be  on  the  lookout  ;  so  I  will  just  take  the  liberty  of  throw- 
ing my  eye  over  this  little  billet-doux. '  I  told  him  often 
that  he  was  at  liberty  to  inspect  every  line  I  should  write,  but 
that  I  thought  that  very  few  parents  would  express  such  want 
of  confidence  in  their  daughters,  if,  like  me,  the  latter  had 
deserved  such  confidence  at  their  hands  as  I  did  at  his." 

11  What  is  the  name  of  your  present  maid  ?"  asked  Reilly, 
musing. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Miss  Folliard,  "  I  have  three  maids  alto- 
gether, but  she  has  been  installed  as  ow?i  maid.  Her  name 
is  Eliza  Herbert." 

"  A  native  of  England,  is  she  not  ?  Eliza  Herbert  !"  he 
exclaimed  ;  "  in  the  lowermost  depths  of  perdition  there  is 
not  such  a  villain.     This  Eliza  Herbert  is  neither  more  nor 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  239 

less  than  one  of  his — but  I  will  not  pain  your  pure  and  deli- 
cate mind  by  mentioning  at  further  length  what  she  is  and 
was  to  him.  The  clergyman  of  the  parish,  Mr.  Brown, 
knows  the  whole  circumstances.  See  him  at  church,  and 
get  him  to  communicate  them  to  your  father.  The  fact  is, 
this  villain,  who  is  at  once  cunning  and  parsimonious,  had 
a  double  motive,  each  equally  base  and  diabolical,  in  send- 
ing her  here.  In  the  first  place,  he  wished,  by  getting  her  a 
good  place,  to  make  your  father  the  unconscious  means  of 
rewarding  her  profligacy  ;  and  in  the  second  of  keeping  her 
as  a  spy  upon  you." 

A  blush,  resulting  from  her  natural  sense  of  delicacy,  as 
well  as  from  the  deepest  indignation  at  a  man  who  did  not 
scruple  to  place  the  woman  whom  he  looked  upon  as  almost 
immediately  to  become  his  wife,  in  the  society  of  such  a 
wretch — such  a  blush,  we  say,  overspread  her  whole  neck 
and  face,  and  for  about  two  minutes  she  shed  bitter  tears. 
But  she  felt  the  necessity  of  terminating  their  interview, 
from  an  apprehension  that  Jvliss  Herbert,  as  she  was  called, 
on  not  finding  her  in  the  room,  might  institute  a  search, 
and  in  this  she  was  not  mistaken. 

She  had  scarcely  concluded  when  the  shrill  voice  of  Miss 
Herbert  was  heard,  as  she  rushed  rapidly  down  the  stairs, 
screaming,  "  Oh,  la  !  oh,  dear  me  !  oh,  my  goodness  ! 
Where,  where — oh,  bless  me,  did  any  one  see  Miss  Folliard  ?" 

Lanigan,  however,  had  prepared  for  any  thing  like  a  sur- 
prise. He  planted  himself,  as  a  sentinel,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  the  moment  he  heard  the  alarm  of  Miss  Herbert 
on  her  way  down,  he  met  her  half  way  up,  after  having  given 
a  loud  significant  cough. 

"  Oh,  cook,  have  you  seen  Miss  Folliard?  I  can't  find 
her  in  the  house  !" 

11  Is  her  father  in  his  study,  Miss  Herbert  ?  because  I  want 
to  see  him  ;  I'm  afeared  there's  a  screw  loose.  I  did  see 
Miss  Folliard  ;  she  went  out  a  few  minutes  ago — indeed  she 
rather  stole  out  towards  the  garden,  and,  I  tell  you  the  truth, 
she  had  a  condemned  look  of  her  own.  Try  the  garden, 
and  if  you  don't  find  her  there,  go  to  the  back  gate,  which 
you'll  be  apt  to  find  open." 

"  Oh,  I  will,  I  will  ;  thank  yon,  cook.  I'm  certain  it's 
an  elopement." 

"  Indeed,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  find,"  replied  Lani- 


2^o  WILLY  REILLY. 

gan,  "  that  she  is  with  Reilly  this  moment  ;  any  way  you 
haven't  a  minute  to  lose." 

She  started  towards  the  garden,  which  she  ran  over  and 
over  ;  and  there  we  shall  leave  her,  executing  the  fool's  er- 
rand upon  which  Lanigan  had  sent  her.  "  Now,"  said  he, 
going  in,  "  the  coast's  clear  ;  I  have  sent  that  impertinent 
jade  out  to  the  garden,  and  as  the  back  gate  is  open — the 
gardener's  men  are  wheeling  out  the  rubbish — and  they  are 
now  at  dinner — I  say,  as  the  back  gate  is  open,  it's  ten  to 
one  but  she'll  scour  the  country.  Now,  Miss  Folliard,  go 
immediately  to  your  room  ;  as  for  this  poor  man,  I  will  take 
care  of  him." 

"  Most  sincerely  do  I  thank  you,  Lanigan  ;  he  will  ar- 
range with  you  when  and  where  to  see  me  again.  Farewell, 
Reilly — farewell  ;  rely  upon  my  constancy  ;"  and  so  they 
parted,  Reilly  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  Coolccn  Baw?i  to  her 
own  room. 

"  Come  into  the  pantry,  poor  man,"  said  good-natured 
Lanigan,  addressing  our  hero,  "  till  I  give  you  something  to 
cat  and  drink." 

"  Many  thanks  to  you,  sir,"  replied  he  ;  "  troth  and  whaix, 
I  didn't  taste  a  morshel  for  the  last  fwhour — hugh — ugh — 
and  twenty  hours  ;  and  sure,  sir,  it's  this  cough  that's  killin' 
me  by  inches. ' 

A  thought  struck  Lanigan,  who  had  been  also  spoken  to 
by  the  gardener,  about  half  an  hour  before,  to  know  if  he 
could  tell  him  where  he  might  have  any  chance  of  finding  an 
assistant.  At  all  events  they  went  into  the  pantry,  when 
Lanigan,  after  having  pulled  to  the  door,  to  prevent  their 
conversation  from  being  overheard,  disclosed  a  project, 
which  had  just  entered  his  head,  of  procuring  Reilly  em- 
ployment in  the  garden.  Here  it  was  arranged  between 
them  that  the  latter,  who  was  both  a  good  botanist  and 
florist,  should  be  recommended  to  the  gardener  as  an  assist- 
ant. To  be  sure,  his  dress  and  appearance  were  both  de- 
cidedly against  him  ;  but  still  they  relied  upon  the  knowl- 
edge which  Reilly  confidently  assured  the  cook  that  he  pos- 
sessed. After  leaving  the  pantry  with  Lanigan,  whom  our 
hero  thanked  in  a  thorough  brogue,  the  former  called  after 
him,  as  he  was  going  away  : 

"  Come  here  again,  my  good  man." 

"  What  is  it,  shir  ?  may  God  bless  you  anyhow,  for  your 


WILLY  REILLY.  241 

charity  to  the — hugh — hugh — ugh — to  the  poor  man.  Oh, 
then,  but  it's  no  wondher  for  you  all  to  be  fat  and  rosy 
upon  sich  beautiful  vittles  as  you  gave  to  me,  shir.  What 
is  it,  achora  ?  and  may  the  Lord  mark  you  wid  grace  !" 

"  Would  you  take  employment  from  the  master,  his  honor 
Mr.  Folliard,  if  you  got  it  ?" 

11  Arrah  now,  shir,  you  gave  me  my  skinful  of  what  was 
gud  ;  but  don't  be  makin'  fwhun  o'  me  after.  Would  I 
take  employment,  achora  ? — ay,  but  where  would  I  get  it  ?" 

"  Could  you  work  in  a  garden  ?  Do  you  know  any  thing 
about  plants  or  flowers  ?" 

"  Oh  thin,  that  I  may  never  sup  sarra  (sorrow),  but  that's 
just  what  I'm  fwhit  fwhor. " 

"  I'm  afeared  this  scoundrel  is  but  an  imposthor  afther 
all,"  whispered  Lanigan  to  the  other  servants;  "but  in 
ordher  to  make  sure,  we'll  try  him.  I  say — what's  this 
your  name  is  ?" 

"  Solvesther  M'Bethershin,  shir." 

"  Well,  now,  would  you  have  any  objection  to  come  with 
me  to  the  garden  and  see  the  gardener  ?  But  hould,  here 
he  is.  Mr.  Malcomson,"  continued  Lanigan,  "  here  is  a 
poor  man,  who  says  he  understands  plants  and  flowers,  and 
weeds  of  that  kind." 

"  Speak  wi'  reverence,  Mr.  Lanigan,  o'  the  art  o'  ger- 
dening.  Dinna  ye  ken  that  the  founder  o'  the  hail  human 
race  was  a  gerdener  ?  Hout  awa,  mon  ;  speak  o'  it  wi'  re- 
speck." 

"Upon  my  conscience,"  replied  Lanigan,  "  whether  he 
was  a  good  gardener  or  not  is  more  than  I  know  ;  but  one 
thing  I  do  know,  that  he  didn't  hould  his  situation  long, 
and  mismanaged  his  orchard  disgracefully  ;  and,  indeed, 
like  many  more  of  his  tribe,  he  got  his  walkin'  papers  in 
double  quick — was  dismissed  without  a  characther — ay,  and 
his  wife,  like  many  another  gardener's  wife,  got  a  habit  of 
stalin'  the  apples.  However,  I  wish,  Mr.  Malcomson,  that 
you,  who  do  undherstand  gardenin',  would  thry  this  fellow, 
because  I  want  to  know  whether  he's  an  imposthor  or  not." 

"  Weel,"  replied  Malcomson,  "  I  dinna  care  if  I  do. 
We'll  soon  find  that  out.  Come  wi'  me  and  Maisther  Lani- 
gan here,  and  we'll  see  what  you  ken  about  that  sceentific 
profession." 

They  accordingly  went  to  the  garden,  and  it  is  unneccs- 


242  WILLY  REILLY. 

sary  to  say  that  Reilly  not  only  bore  the  examination  well, 
but  proved  himself  by  far  the  better  botanist  of  the  two. 
He  tempered  his  answers,  however,  in  such  a  way  as  not  to 
allow  the  gardener's  vanity  to  be  hurt,  in  which  case  he 
feared  that  he  might  have  little  chance  of  being  engaged. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

MORE    OF    WHITECRAFT'S   PLOTS    AND    PRANKS. 

OX  the  Sunday  following,  Miss  Folliard,  as  was  her 
usual  custom,  attended  divine  service  at  her  parish 
church,  accompanied  by  the  virtuous  Miss  Herbert,  who 
scarcely  ever  let  her  for  a  moment  out  of  her  sight,  and,  in 
fact,  added  grievously  to  the  misery  of  her  life.  After  ser- 
vice had  been  concluded,  she  waited  until  Mr.  Brown  had 
descended  from  the  pulpit,  when  she  accosted  him,  and  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  have  some  private  conversation  with  him 
in  the  vestry-room.  To  this  room  they  were  about  to  pro- 
ceed, when  Miss  Herbert  advanced  with  an  evident  inten- 
tion of  accompanying  them. 

"Mr. -Brown,"  said  the  Cooleen  Bawm,  looking  at  him 
significantly,  "  I  wish  that  our  interview  should  be  pri- 
vate." 

"Certainly,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard,  and  so  it  shall  be. 
Pray,  who  is  this  lady  ?" 

"lam  forced,  sir,  to  call  her  my  maid." 

Mr.  Brown  was  startled  a  good  deal,  not  only  at  the 
words,  but  the  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "you  will  please  to  remain  here 
until  your  mistress  shall  return  to  you,  or,  if  you  wish,  you 
can  amuse  yourself  by  reading  the  inscriptions  on  the  tomb- 
stones." 

"Oh,  but  I  have  been  ordered,"  replied  Miss  Herbert, 
"  by  her  father  and  another  gentleman,  not  to  let  her  out  of 
my  sight." 

Mr.  Brown,  understanding  that  something  was  wrong, 
now  looked  at  her  more  closely,  after  which,  with  a  wither- 
ing frown,  he  said, 


WILLY  REILLY.  243 

"  I  think  I  know  you,  madam,  and  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear 
that  you  are  an  attendant  upon  this  amiable  lady.  Remain 
where  you  are,  and  don't  attempt  to  intrude  yourself  as  an 
ear-witness  to  any  communication  Miss  Folliard  may  have 
to  make  to  me. ' ' 

The  profligate  creature  and  unprincipled  spy  bridled, 
looked  disdain  and  bitterness  at  the  amiable  clergyman,  who, 
accompanied  by  our  heroine,  retired  to  the  vestry.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  detail  their  conversation,  which  was  sus- 
tained by  the  Coolcen  Bawn  with  bitter  tears.  It  is  enough 
to  say  that  the  good  and  pious  minister,  though  not  aware 
until  then  that  Miss  Herbert  had,  by  the  scoundrel  baronet, 
been  intruded  into  Squire  Folliard' s  family,  was  yet  ac- 
quainted, from  peculiar  sources,  with  the  nature  of  the  im- 
moral relation  in  which  she  stood  to  that  hypocrite.  He 
felt  shocked  beyond  belief,  and  assured  the  weeping  girl 
that  he  would  call  the  next  day  and  disclose  the  treacherous 
design  to  her  father,  who,  he  said,  could  not  possibly  have 
been  aware  of  the  wretch's  character  when  he  admitted  her 
into  his  family.  They  then  parted,  and  our  heroine  was 
obliged  to  take  this  vile  creature  into  the  carriage  with  her 
home.  On  their  return,  Miss  Herbert  began  to  display  at 
once  the  malignity  of  her  disposition,  and  the  volubility  of 
her  tongue,  in  a  fierce  attack  upon,  what  she  termed,  the 
ungentlemanly  conduct  of  Mr.  Brown.  To  all  she  said, 
however,  Helen  uttered  not  one  syllable  of  reply.  She 
neither  looked  at  her  nor  noticed  her,  but  sat  in  profound 
silence,  not,  however,  without  a  distracted  mind  and  break- 
ing heart. 

On  the  next  day  the  squire  took  a  fancy  to  look  at  the 
state  of  his  garden,  and,  having  got  his  hat  and  cane,  he 
sallied  out  to  observe  how  matters  were  going  on,  now  that 
Mr.  Malcomson  had  got  an  assistant,  whom,  by  the  way,  he 
had  not  yet  seen. 

"  Now,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  as  you  have  found  an 
assistant,  I  hope  you  will  soon  bring  my  garden  into  decent 
trim.  What  kind  of  a  chap  is  he,  and  how  did  you  come 
by  him  ?" 

"  Saul,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson,  "he's  a  divilish 
clever  chiel,  and  vara  weel  acquent  wi'  our  noble  profes- 
sion." 

"  Confound  yourself  and  your  noble  profession  !     I  think 


244  WILLY  REILLY. 

every  Scotch  gardener  of  you  believes  himself  a  gentleman, 
simply  because  he  can  nail  a  few  stripes  of  old  blanket 
against  a  wall.     How  did  you  come  by  this  fellow,  I  say  ?" 

11  Ou,  just  through  Lanigan,  the  cook,  your  honor." 

"  Did  Lanigan  know  him  ?" 

"  Hout,  no,  your  honor — it  was  an  act  o'  charity  like." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Lanigan's  a  kind-hearted  old  fool,  and  that's 
just  like  him  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  let  me  see  this  chap." 

11  There  he  is,  your  honor,  trimming,  and  taking  care  of 
that  bed  of  '  love-lies-bleeding.'  " 

11  Ay,  ay  ;  I  dare  say  my  daughter  set  him  to  that  task." 

"  Na,  na,  sir.  The  young  leddy  hasna  seen  him  yet,  nor 
hasna  been  in  the  gerden  for  the  last  week." 

"Why,  confound  it,  Malcomson,  that  fellow's  more  like 
a  beggarman  than  a  gardener. ' ' 

"  Saul,  but  he's  a  capital  hand  for  a'  that.  Your  honor's 
no'  to  tak  the  beuk  by  the  cover.  To  be  sure  he's  awfully 
vulgar,  but,  ma  faith,  he  has  a  richt  gude  knowledgeable  ap- 
prehension o'  buttany  and  gerdening  in  generhal." 

The  squire  then  approached  our  under-gardener,  and  ac- 
costed him, 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,  so  you  understand  gardening  ?" 

"  A  little,  your  haner,"  replied  the  other,  respectfully 
touching  his  hat,  or  caubeen  rather. 

"  Are  you  a  native  of  this  neighborhood  ?" 

"  Xo,  your  haner.  I'm  fwaither  up — from  Westport, 
your  haner." 

"  Who  were  you  engaged  with  last  ?" 

"  I  wasn't  engaged,  shir — it  was  only  job-work  I  was 
able  to  do — the  health  wasn't  gud  wid  me." 

"  Have  you  no  better  clothes  than  these  ?" 

"  You  see  all  that  I  have  on  me,  shir." 

"  Well,  come,  I'll  give  you  the  price  of  a  suit  rather  than 
see  such  a  scarecrow  in  my  garden." 

"  I  couldn't  take  it,  shir." 

"  The  devil  you  couldn't  !     Why  not,  man  ?" 

"  Bekaise,  shir,  I'm  under  pinance. " 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  shave  ?" 

"  I  can't,  shir,  for  de  same  raison." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  what  the  devil  did  you  do  that  they  put 
such  a  penance  on  you." 

11  Why,  I  runned  away  wit'  a  young  woman,  shir." 


WILLY  REILLY.  245 

"  Upon  my  soul  you're  a  devilish  likely  fellow  to  run 
away  with  a  young  woman,  and  a  capital  taste  she  must  have 
had  to  go  with  you  ;  but  perhaps  you  took  her  away  by 
violence,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  shir  ;  she  was  willin'  enough  to  come  ;  but  her 
fadher  wouldn't  consint,  and  so  we  made  off  wit'  our- 
selves." 

This  was  a  topic  on  which  the  squire,  for  obvious  reasons, 
did  not  like  to  press  him.  It  was  in  fact  a  sore  subject, 
and,  accordingly,  he  changed  it. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  about  the  country  a  good 
deal?" 

"  I  have,  indeed,  your  haner." 

"  Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of,  or  to  meet  with,  a  per- 
son called  Reilly  ?" 

11  Often,  shir  ;  met  many  o'  dem." 

"  Oh,  but  I  mean  the  scoundrel  called  Willy  Reilly." 

11  Is  dat  him  dat  left  de  country,  shir  ?" 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  that  he  has  left  the  country  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  myself,  shir  ;  but  dat  de  people  does  be 
sayin'  it.  Dey  say  dat  himself  and  wan  of  our  bishops 
went  to  France  togeder. " 

The  squire  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely  as  he  said,  in  a 
low  soliloquy,  "  I'm  devilish  glad  of  it  ;  for,  after  all,  it 
would  go  against  my  heart  to  hang  the  fellow.  Well,"  he 
said  aloud,  "  so  he's  gone  to  France  ?" 

"  So  de  people  does  be  sayin',  shir." 

"  Well,  tell  me — do  you  know  a  gentleman  called  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  ?" 

"  Is  dat  him,  shir,  dat  keeps  de  misses  privately  ?" 

11  How  do  you  know  that  he  keeps  misses  privately  ?" 

11  Fwhy,  shir,  dey  say  his  last  one  was  a  Miss  Herbert, 
and  dat  she  had  a  young  one  by  him,  and  dat  she  was  an 
Englishwoman.  It  isn't  ginerally  known,  I  believe,  shir,  but 
dey  do  be  sayin'  dat  she  was  brought  to  bed  in  de  cottage 
of  some  bad  woman  named  Mary  Mahon,  dat  does  be  on  de 
lookout  to  get  sweethearts  for  him." 

'*  There's  five  thirteens  for  you,  and  I  wish  to  God,  my 
good  fellow,  that  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be  put  in  bet- 
ter feathers." 

"Oh,  I  expect  my  pinance  will  be  out  before  a  mont', 
shir  ;  but,  until  den,  I  couldn't  take  any  money." 


246  WILLY  RELLLY. 

"  Malcomson,"  said  he  to  the  gardener,  "  I  think  that 
fellow's  a  half  fool.  I  offered  him  a  crown,  and  also  said  I 
would  get  him  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  he  would  not  take 
either  ;  but  talked  about  some  silly  penance  he  was  under- 
going." 

11  Saul,  then,  your  honor,  he  may  be  a  fule  in  ither 
things,  but  de'il  a  ane  of  him's  a  fule  in  the  sceence  o'  but- 
tany.  As  to  that  penance,  it's  just  some  Papistrical  non- 
sense he  has  gotten  into  his  head — de'il  hae't  mair  ;  but  sure 
they're  a'  full  o't — a'  o'  the  same  graft,  an'  a  bad  one  I  fear 
it  is." 

"  Well,  I  believe  so,  Malcomson,  I  believe  so.  How- 
ever, if  the  unfortunate  fool  is  clever,  give  him  good 
wages." 

"  Saul,  your  honor,  I'll  do  him  justice  ;  only  I  think 
that,  anent  that  penance  he  speaks  o',  the  hail  Papish 
population,  bad  as  we  think  them,  are  suffering  penance 
eneuch,  one  way  or  tither.  It  disna'  beseem  a  Protestant — 
that  is,  a  prelatic  Government — to  persecute  ony  portion  o' 
Christian  people  on  account  o'  their  religion.  We  have  felt 
and  kenned  that  in  Scotland  sairly.  I'm  no  freend  to  per- 
secution, in  ony  shape.  But,  as  to  this  chiel,  I  ken  naeth- 
ing  aboot  him,  but  that  he  is  a  gude  buttanist.  Hout,  your 
honor,  to  be  sure  I'll  gi'e  him  a  fair  wage  for  his  skeel  and 
labor." 

Malcomson,  who  was  what  we  have  often  met,  a  pedant 
gardener,  saw,  however,  that  the  squire's  mind  was  dis- 
turbed. In  the  short  conversation  which  they  had,  he 
spoke  abruptly,  and  with  a  flushed  countenance  ;  but  he 
was  too  shrewd  to  ask  him  why  he  seemed  so.  It  was  not, 
he  knew,  his  business  to  do  so  ;  and  as  the  squire  left  the 
garden,  to  pass  into  the  house,  he  looked  after  him,  and  ex- 
claimed to  himself,  "  my  certie,  there's  a  bee  in  that  man's 
bonnet." 

On  going  to  the  drawing-room,  the  squire  found  Mr. 
Brown  there,  and  Helen  in  tears. 

"  How  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  this  ?  Helen  crying  ! 
Why,  what's  the  matter,  my  child  ?  Brown,  have  you 
been  scolding  her,  or  reading  her  a  homily  to  teach  her 
repentance.  Confound  me,  but  I  know  it  would  teach  her 
patience,  at  all  events.     What  is  the  matter  ?" 

11  My  dear  Miss  Folliard,"   said  the  clergyman,  "  if  you 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  247 

will  have  the  goodness  to  withdraw,  I  will  explain  this 
shocking  business  to  your  father." 

"  Shocking  business  !  Why,  in  God's  name,  Brown, 
what  has  happened  ?  And  why  is  my  daughter  in  tears,  1 
ask  again  ?" 

Helen  now  left  the  drawing-room,  and  Mr.  Brown  replied  : 

"  Sir,  a  circumstance  which,  for  baseness  and  diabolical 
iniquity,  is  unparalleled  in  civilized  society.  I  could  not 
pollute  your  daughter's  ears  by  reciting  it  in  her  presence, 
and  besides  she  is  already  aware  of  it." 

11  Ay,  but  what  is  it  ?  Confound  you,  don't  keep  me  on 
tenter  hooks." 

"  I  shall  not  do  so  long,  my  dear  friend.  Who  do  you 
imagine  your  daughter's  maid — I  mean  that  female  attend- 
ant upon  your  pure-minded  and  virtuous  child — is  ?" 

V  Faith,  go  ask  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  It  was  he  who 
recommended  her  ;  for,  on  hearing  that  the  maid  she  had, 
Ellen  Connor,  was  a  Papist,  he  said  he  felt  uneasy  lest  she 
might  prevail  on  my  daughter  to  turn  Catholic,  and  marry 
Reilly." 

"  But  do  you  not  know  who  the  young  woman  that  is 
about  your  daughter's  person  is  ?  You  are,  however,  a 
father  who  loves  your  child,  and  I  need  not  ask  such  a 
question.  Then,  sir,  I  will  tell  you  who  she  is.  Sir,  she  is 
one  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  cast-off  mistresses — a  profli- 
gate wanton,  who  has  had  a  child  by  him." 

The  fiery  old  squire  had  been  walking  to  and  fro  the 
room,  in  a  state  of  considerable  agitation  before — his  mind 
already  charged  with  the  same  intelligence,  as  he  had  heard 
it  from  the  gardener  (Reilly).  He  now  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  putting  his  hands  before  his  face,  muttered  out 
between  his  fingers — "  D — n  seize  the  villain  !  It  is  true, 
then.  Well,  never  mind,  I'll  demand  satisfaction  for  this 
insult  ;  I  am  not  too  old  to  pull  a  trigger,  or  give  a  thrust 
yet  ;  but  then  the  cowardly  hypocrite  won't  fight.  When 
he  has  a  set  of  military  at  his  back,  and  a  parcel  of  unarmed 
peasants  before  him,  or  an  unfortunate  priest  or  two,  why, 
he's  a  dare  devil — Hector  was  nothing  to  him  ;  no,  con- 
found me,  nor  mad  Tom  Simpson,  that  wears  a  sword  on 
each  side,  and  a  double  case  of  pistols,  to  frighten  the  bail- 
iffs. The  scoundrel  of  hell  ! — to  impose  on  me,  and  insult 
my  child  !" 


248  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  clergyman  calmly,  "  I  can 
indeed  scarcely  blame  your  indignation  ;  it  is  natural  ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  it  is  useless  and  unavailable.  Be  cool, 
and  restrain  your  temper.  Of  course,  you  could  not  think 
of  bestowing  your  daughter,  in  marriage,  upon  this  man." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Brown — I  tell  you  what,  my  dear  friend 
— let  the  devil,  Satan,  Beelzebub,  or  whatever  you  call  him 
from  the  pulpit — I  say,  let  him  come  here  any  time  he 
pleases,  in  his  holiday  hoofs  and  horns,  tail  and  all,  and  he 
shall  have  her  sooner  than  Whitecraft." 

Mr.  Brown  could  not  help  smiling,  whilst  he  said  : 
"  Of  course,   you  will  instantly  dismiss  this  abandonee' 
creature." 

He  started  up,  and  exclaimed,  "  Cog's  'ounds,  what  an 
I  about?"     He  instantly  rang  the  bell,  and  a  footman  at- 
tended.    "  John,  desire  that  wench  Herbert  to  come  here." 
11  Do  you  mean  Miss  Herbert,  sir  ?" 
"  I  do — Miss  Herbert — egad,   you've  hit   it  ;  be  quick, 
sirra." 

John  bowed  and  withdrew,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Miss 
Herbert  entered. 

"  Miss  Herbert,"  said  the  Squire,  "  leave  this  house  as 
fast  as  the  devil  can  drive  you  ;  and  he  has  driven  you  to 
some  purpose  before  now  ;  ay,  and,  I  dare  say,  will  again. 
I  say,  then,  as  fast  as  he  can  drive  you,  pack  up  your  lug- 
gage, and  begone  about  your  business.  I'll  just  give  you 
ten  minutes  to  disappear." 

"  What's  all  this  about,  master  ?" 

"  Master  ! — why,  curse  your  brazen  impudence,  how  dare 
you  call  me  master  ?     Begone,  you  jade  of  perdition." 

11  No  more  a  jade  of  perdition,  sir,  than  you  are  ;  nor  I 
shan't  begone  till  I  gets  a  quarter's  wages — I  tell  you  that." 
"  You  shall  get  whatever' s  coming  to  you  ;  not  another 
penny.  The  house-steward  will  pay  you — begone,  I  say  !" 
"  No,  sir,  I  shan't  begone  till  I  gets  a  quarter's  salary  in 
full,  You  broke  your  agreement  with  me,  wich  is  wat  no 
man  as  is  a  gentleman  would  do  ;  and  you  are  puttin'  me 
away,  too,  without  no  cause. ' ' 

"  Cause,  you  vagabond  !  you'll  find  the  cause  squalling,  I 
suppose,  in  Mary  Marion' s  cottage,  somewhere  near  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft's  ;  and  when  you  see  him,  tell  him  I 
have  a  crow  to  pluck  with  him.     Off,  I  say." 


WILLY  REILLY.  249 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you  mean  the  love-child  I  had  by  nim — 
ha,  ha  !  is  that  all  ?  But  I  never  had  a  hankerin'  after  a 
rebel  and  a  Papist,  which  is  far  worser  ;  and  I  now  tell  you 
you're  no  gentlemen,  you  nasty  old  Hirish  squire.  You 
brought  me  here,  and  Sir  Robert  sent  me  here,  to  watch 
your  daughter.  Now,  what  kind  of  a  young  lady  must  she 
be  as  requires  watching  ?  /  was  never  watched  ;  because  as 
how  I  was  well  conducted,  and  nothing  could  ever  be  laid  to 
my  charge  but  a  love-child." 

11  By  the  great  Boyne, "  he  exclaimed,  running  to  the  win- 
dow and  throwing  up  the  sash — "  yes,  by  the  great  Boyne, 
there  is  Tom  Steeple,  and  if  he  doesn't  bring  you  and  the 
pump  acquainted,  I'm  rather  mistaken.  Here,  Tom,  I 
have  a  job  for  you.  Do  you  wish  to  earn  a  bully  dinner, 
my  boy  ?" 

Miss  Herbert,  on  hearing  Tom's  name  mentioned,  disap- 
peared like  lightning,  and  set  about  packing  her  things  im- 
mediately. The  steward,  by  his  master's  desire,  paid  her 
exactly  what  was  due  to  her,  which  she  received  without 
making  a  single  observation.  In  truth,  she  entertained  such 
a  terror  of  Tom  Steeple,  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  her 
as  a  wild  Irishman,  not  long  caught  in  the  mountains,  that 
she  stole  out  by  the  back  way,  and  came,  by  making  a  cir- 
cuit, out  upon  the  road  that  led  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's 
house,  which  she  passed  without  entering,  but  went  directly 
to  Mary  Mahon's,  who  had  provided  a  nurse  for  her  illegiti- 
mate child  in  the  neighborhood.  She  had  not  been  there 
long  when  she  sent  her  trusty  friend,  Mary,  to  acquaint  Sir 
Robert  with  what  had  happened.  He  was  from  home,  en- 
gaged in  an  expedition  of  which  we  feel  called  upon  to  give 
some  account  to  the  reader. 

At  this  period,  when  the  persecution  ran  high  against  the 
Catholics,  but  with  peculiar  bitterness  against  their  priest- 
hood, it  is  but  justice  to  a  great  number  of  the  Protestant 
magistracy  and  gentry — nay,  and  many  of  the  nobility  be- 
sides— to  state  that  their  conduct  was  both  liberal  and  gen- 
erous to  the  unfortunate  victims  of  those  cruel  laws.  It  is  a 
well  known  fact  that  many  Protestant  justices  of  the  peace 
were  imprisoned  for  refusing  to  execute  such  oppressive 
edicts  as  had  gone  abroad  through  the  country.  Many  of 
them  resigned  their  commissions,  and  many  more  were  de- 
prived of  them.     Amongst  the  latter  were  several   liberal 


250  WILLY  KELLLY. 

noblemen — Protestants — who  had  sufficient  courage  to  de- 
nounce the  spirit  in  which  the  country  was  governed  and 
depopulated  at  the  same  time.  One  of  the  latter — a  noble- 
man of  the  highest  rank  and  acquirements,  and  of  the  most 
amiable  disposition,  a  warm  friend  to  civil  freedom,  and  a 
firm  antagonist  to  persecution  and  oppression  of  every  hue 
— this  nobleman,  we  say,  married  a  French  lady  of  rank  and 
fortune,  who  was  a  Catholic,  and  with  whom  he  lived  in  the 
tenderest  love,  and  the  utmost  domestic  felicity.  The  lady 
being  a  Catholic,  as  we  said,  brought  over  with  her,  from 
France,  a  learned,  pious,  and  venerable  ecclesiastic,  as  her 
domestic  chaplain  and  confessor.  This  man  had  been  pro- 
fessor of  divinity  for  several  years  in  the  college  of  Lou- 
vain  ;  but  having  lost  his  health,  he  accepted  a  small  living 

near  the  chateau  of ,  the  residence  of  Marquis  De , 

in  whose  establishment  he  was  domesticated   as   chaplain. 

In  shoit,  he  accompanied  Lord and  his  lady  to  Ireland, 

where  he  acted  in  the  same  capacity,  but  so  far  only  as  the 
lady  was  concerned  ;  for,  as  we  have  already  said,  her  hus- 
band, though  a  liberal  man,  was  a  firm  but  not  a  bigoted 
Protestant.  This  harmless  old  man,  as  was  very  natural, 
kept  up  a  correspondence  with  several  Irish  and  French 
clergymen,  his  friends,  who,  as  he  had  done,  held  professor- 
ships in  the  same  college.  Many  of  the  Irish  clergymen, 
knowing  the  dearth  of  religious  instruction  which,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  severe  state  of  the  laws,  then  existed  in  Ire- 
land, were  naturally  anxious  to  know  the  condition  of  the 
country,  and  whether  or  not  any  relaxation  in  their  severity 
had  taken  place,  with  a  hope  that  they  might  be  able  with 
safety  to  return  to  the  mission  here,  and  bestow  spiritual  aid 
and  consolation  to  the  suffering  and  necessarily  neglected 
folds  of  their  own  persuasion.  On  this  harmless  and  pious 
old  man  the  eye  of  Hennessy  rested.  In  point  of  fact  he  set 
him  for  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  to  whom  he  represented  him 
as  a  spy  from  France,  and  an  active  agent  of  the  Catholic 
priesthood,  both  here  and  on  the  Continent  ;  in  fact,  an  in- 
cendiary, who,  feeling  himself  sheltered  by  the  protection  of 
the  nobleman  in  question  and  his  countess,  was  looked  upon 
as  a  safe  man  with  whom  to  hold  correspondence.  The 
Abbe,  as  they  termed  him,  was  in  the  habit,  by  his  lord- 
ship's desire,  and  that  of  his  lady,  of  attending  the  Catholic 
sick  of  his  large  estates,  administering  to  them  religious  in- 


WILLY  REILLY.  251 

struction,  and  the  ordinance  of  their  Church,  at  a  time  when 
they  could  obtain  them  from  no  other  source.  He  also 
acted  as  their  almoner,  and  distributed  relief  to  the  sick,  the 
poor,  and  the  distressed,  and  thus  passed  his  pious,  harm- 
less, and  inoffensive,  but  useful  life.  Now  all  these  circum- 
stances were  noted  by  Hennessy,  who  had  been  on  the  look- 
out, to  make  a  present  of  this  good  old  man  to  his  new 
patron,  Sir  Robert.  At  length  having  discovered— by  what 
means  it  is  impossible  to  conjecture— that  the  Abbe  was 
to   go   on   the   day    in   question    to    relieve    a    poor    sick 

family,  at  about  a  distance  of  two  miles  from  Castle , 

the  intelligence  was  communicated  by  Hennessy  to  Sir  Rob- 
ert, who  immediately  set  out  for  the  place,  attended  by  a 
party  of  his  myrmidons,  conducted  to  it  by  the  Red  Rap- 
paree,  who,  as  we  have  said,  was  now  one  of  Whitecraft's 
band.  There  is  often  a  stupid  infatuation  in  villany  which 
amounts  to  what  they  call  in  Scotland  fey— that  is,  when  a 
man  goes  on  doggedly  to  commit  some  act  of  wickedness,  or 
rush  upon  some  impracticable  enterprise,  the  danger  and 
folly  of  which  must  be  evident  to  every  person  but  himself, 
and  that  it  will  end  in  the  loss  of  his  life.  Sir  Robert,  how- 
ever, had  run  a  long  and  prosperous  career  of  persecution — 
a  career  by  which  he  enriched  himself  by  the  spoils  he  had 
torn,  and  the  property  he  had  wrested  from  his  victims, 
generally  under  the  sanction  of  Government,  but  very  fre- 
quently under  no  other  sanction  than  his  own.  At  all 
events  the  party,  consisting  of  about  thirty  men,  remained  in 
a  deep  and  narrow  lane,  surrounded  by  high  whitethorn 
hedges,  which  prevented  the  horsemen— for  they  were  all 
dragoons— from  being  noticed  by  the  country  people.  Alas, 
for  the  poor  Abbe' /  they  had  not  remained  there  more  than 
twenty  minutes  when  he  was  seen  approaching  them,  read- 
ing his  breviary  as  he  came  along.  They  did  not  move, 
however,  nor  seem  to  notice  him,  until  he  had  got  into  the 
midst  of  them,  when  they  formed  a  circle  round  him,  and 
the  loud  voice  of  Whitecraft  commanded  him  to  stand.  The 
poor  old  priest  closed  his  breviary,  and  looked  around  him  ; 
but  he  felt  no  alarm,  because  he  was  conscious  of  no  offence,' 
and  imagined  himself  safe  under  the  protection  of  a  distin- 
guished Protestant  nobleman. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  calmly  and  meekly,  but  without 
fear,  M  what  is  the  cause  of  this  conduct  towards  an  inoffen- 


252  WILLY  REILLY. 

sive  old  man  ?  It  is  true  I  am  a  Catholic  priest,  but  I  am 
under  the  protection  of  the  Marquis  of .  He  is  a  Pro- 
testant nobleman,  and  I  am  sure  the  very  mention  of  his 
name  will  satisfy  you,  that  I  cannot  be  the  object  either  of 
your  suspicion  or  your  enmity." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "  the  nobleman 
you  mention  is  a  suspected  man  himself,  and  I  have  report- 
ed him  as  such  to  the  Government.  He  is  married  to  a 
Popish  wife,  and  you  are  a  seminary  priest  and  harbored  by 
her  and  her  husband." 

"But  what  is  your  object  in  stopping  and  surrounding 
me,"  asked  the  priest,  "as  if  I  were  some  public  delin- 
quent who  had  violated  the  laws  ?  Allow  me,  sir,  to  pass, 
and  prevent  me  at  your  peril  ;  and  permit  me,  before  I  pro- 
ceed, to  ask  your  name  ?"  and  the  old  man's  eyes  flashed 
with  an  indignant  sense  of  the  treatment  he  was  receiving. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  ?" 

11  The  priest-hunter,  the  persecutor,  the  robber,  the  mur- 
derer ?  I  did,  with  disgust,  with  horror,  with  execration. 
If  you  are  he,  I  say  to  you  that  I  am,  as  you  see,  an  old 
man,  and  a  priest,  and  have  but  one  life  ;  take  it,  you  will 
anticipate  my  death  only  by  a  short  period  ;  but  I  look  by 
the  light  of  an  innocent  conscience  into  the  future,  and  I 
now  tell  you  that  a  woful  and  a  terrible  retribution  is  hang- 
ing over  your  head. ' ' 

11  In  the  meantime,"  said  Sir  Robert,  very  calmly,  as  he 
dismounted  from  his  horse,  which  he  desired  one  of  the  men 
to  hold,  "  I  have  a  warrant  from  Government  to  arrest  you, 
and  send  you  back  again  to  your  own  country  without  delay. 
You  are  here  as  a  spy,  an  incendiary,  and  must  go  on  yolir 
travels  forthwith.  In  this,  I  am  acting  as  your  friend  and 
protector,  and  so  is  Government,  who  do  not  wish  to  be 
severe  upon  you,  as  you  are  not  a  natural  subject.  See,  sir, 
here  is  another  warrant  for  your  arrest  and  imprisonment. 
The  fact  is,  it  was  left  to  my  own  discretion,  either  to  im- 
prison you,  or  send  you  out  of  the  country.  Now,  sir, 
from  a  principle  of  lenity,  I  am  determined  on  the  latter 
course." 

11  But."  replied  the  priest,  after  casting  his  eye  over  both 
documents,  "  as  I  am  conscious  of  no  offence,  either  against 
your  laws  or  your  Government,  I  decline  to  fly  like  a  crimi- 
nal, and  I  will  not  ;  put  me  in  prison,  if  you  wish,  but  I 


WILLY  REILLY.  253 

certainly  shall  not  criminate  myself,  knowing  as  I  do  that  I 
am  innocent.  In  the  meantime,  I  request  that  you  will  ac- 
company me  to  the  castle  of  my  patron,  that  I  may  acquaint 
him  with  the  charges  against  me,  and  the  cause  of  my  being 
forced  to  leave  his  family  for  a  time." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Whitecraft,  "  I  cannot  do  so,  unless  I 
betray  the  trust  which  Government  reposes  in  me.  I  can- 
not permit  you  to  hold  any  intercourse  whatever  with  your 
patron,  as  you  call  him,  who  is  justly  suspected  of  being  a 
Papist  at  heart.  Sir,  you  have  been  going  abroad  through 
the  country,  under  pretence  of  administering  consolation  to 
the  sick,  and  bestowing  alms  upon  the  poor  ;  but  the  fact  is, 
you  have  been  stirring  them  up  to  sedition,  if  not  to  open 
rebellion.  You  must,  therefore,  come  along  with  us,  this 
instant.  You  proceed  with  us  to  Sligo,  from  whence  we 
shall  ship  you  off  in  a  vessel  bound  for  France,  which  vessel 
is  commanded  by  a  friend  of  mine,  who  will  treat  you 
kindly,  for  my  sake.  What  shall  we  do  for  a  horse  for 
him  ?"  he  asked,  looking  at  his  men  for  information  on  that 
point. 

11  That,  your  honor,  we'll  provide  in  a  crack,"  replied  the 
Red  Rapparee,  looking  up  the  road  ;  "  here  comes  Sterling, 
the  gauger,  very  well  mounted,  and,  by  all  the  stills  he  ever 
seized,  he  must  walk  home  upon  shank's  mare,  if  it  was 
only  to  give  him  exercise  and  improve  his  appetite." 

We  need  not  detail  this  open  robbery  on  the  king's  offi- 
cer, and  on  the  king's  highway  besides.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  the  Rapparee,  confident  of  protection  and  impunity, 
with  the  connivance,  although  not  by  the  express  orders  of 
the  baronet,  deprived  the  man  of  his  horse,  and,  in  a  few 
minutes,  the  poor  old  priest  was  placed  upon  the  saddle, 
and  the  whole  cavalcade  proceeded  on  their  way  to  Sligo, 
the  priest  in  the  centre  of  them.  Fortunately  for  Sir  Rob- 
ert's project,  they  reached  the  quay  just  as  the  vessel 
alluded  to  was  about  to  sail  ;  and  as  there  was,  at  that 
period,  no  novelty  in  seeing  a  priest  shipped  out  of  the 
country,  the  loungers  about  the  place,  whatever  they  might 
have  thought  in  their  hearts,  seemed  to  take  no  particular 
notice  of  the  transaction. 

_  "  Your  honor,"  said  the  Red  Rapparee,  approaching  and 
giving  a  military  salute  to  his  patron,  "  will  you  allow  me  to 
remain  in  town  for  an  hour  or  two  ?     I  have  a  scheme  in  my 


2  54  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

head  that  may  come  to  something.     I  will  tell  your  honor 
what  it  is  when  I  get  home." 

44  Very  well,  O'Donnel,"  replied  Sir  Robert;  "but  I'd 
advise  you  not  to  ride  late,  if  you  can  avoid  it.  You  know 
that  every  man  in  your  uniform  is  a  mark  for  the  vindictive 
resentment  of  these  Popish  rebels." 

44  Ah  !  maybe  I  don't  know  that,  your  honor  ;  but  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it  that  I  will  lose  little  time." 

He  then  rode  down  a  by-street,  very  coolly,  taking  the 
gauger's  horse  along  with  him.  The  reader  may  remember 
the  fable  of  the  cat  that  had  been  transformed  into  a  lady, 
and  the  unfortunate  mouse.  The  Rapparee,  whose  original 
propensities  were  strong  as  ever,  could  not,  for  the  soul  of 
him,  resist  the  temptation  of  selling  the  horse  and  pocketing 
the  amount.  He  did  so,  and  very  deliberately  proceeded 
home  to  his  barracks,  but  took  care  to  avoid  any  private 
communication  with  his  patron  for  some  days,  lest  he 
might  question  him  as  to  what  he  had  done  with  the  animal. 

In  the  meantime,  this  monstrous  outrage  upon  an  un- 
offending priest,  who  was  a  natural  subject  of  France,  per- 
petrated, as  it  was,  in  the  open  face  of  day,  and  witnessed 
by  so  many,  could  not,  as  the  reader  may  expect,  be  long 

concealed.     It  soon  reached  the  ears  of  the  Marquis  of 

and  his  lady,  who  were  deeply  distressed  at  the  disappear- 
ance of  their  aged  and  revered  friend.  The  Marquis,  on 
satisfying  himself  of  the  truth  of  the  report,  did  not,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  wait  upon  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  ;  but 
without  loss  of  time  set  sail  for  London,  to  wait  upon  the 
French  Ambassador,  to  whom  he  detailed  the  whole  circum- 
stances of  the  outrage.  And  here  we  shall  not  further  pro- 
ceed with  an  account  of  those  circumstances,  as  they  will 
necessarily  intermingle  with  that  portion  of  the  narrative 
which  is  to  follow. 


CAPTAIN   SMELLPRLEST  AND  THE  BISIlop 


WILLY  K  LILLY.  255 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

SIR    ROBERT    INGENIOUSLY    EXTRICATES    HIMSELF    OUT    OF    A 
GREAT    DIFFICULTY. 

ON  the  day  after  the  outrage  we  have  described,  the  in- 
dignant old  squire's  carriage  stopped  at  the  hall-door 
of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  whom  he  found  at  home.  As  yet, 
the  latter  gentleman  had  heard  nothing  of  the  contumelious 
dismissal  of  Miss  Herbert  ;  but  the  old  squire  was  not  igno- 
rant of  the  felonious  abduction  of  the  priest.  At  any  other 
time,  that  is  to  say,  in  some  of  his  peculiar  stretches  of  loy- 
alty, the  act  might  have  been  a  feather  in  the  cap  of  the 
loyal  baronet  ;  but,  at  present,  he  looked  both  at  him  and 
his  exploits  through  the  medium  of  the  insult  he  had  offered 
to  his  daughter.  Accordingly,  when  he  entered  the  baro- 
net's library,  where  he  found  him  literally  sunk  in  papers, 
anonymous  letters,  warrants,  reports  to  Government,  and  a 
vast  variety  of  other  documents,  the  worthy  Sir  Robert  rose, 
and  in  the  most  cordial  manner,  and  with  the  most  extraor- 
dinary suavity  of  aspect,  held  out  his  hand,  saying  : 

11  How  much  obliged  am  I,  Mr.  Folliard,  at  the  kindness 
of  this  visit,  especially  from  one  who  keeps  at  home  so  much 
as  you  do." 

The  squire  instantly  repulsed  him,  and  replied  : 

' '  No,  sir  ;  I  am  an  honest,  and,  I  trust,  an  honorable  man. 
My  hand,  therefore,  shall  never  touch  that  of  a  villain." 

11  A  villain  ! — why,  Mr.  Folliard,  these  are  hard  and  harsh 
words,  and  they  surprise  me,  indeed,  as  proceeding  from 
your  lips.  May  I  beg,  my  friend,  that  you  will  explain  your- 
self ?" 

"  I  will,  sir.  How  durst  you  take  the  liberty  of  sending 
one  of  your  cast-off  strumpets  to  attend  personally  upon  my 
pure  and  virtuous  daughter  ?  For  that  insult  I  come  this 
day  to  demand  that  satisfaction  which  is  due  to  the  outraged 
feelings  of  my  daughter — to  my  own  also,  as  her  father 
and  natural  protector,  and  also  as  an  Irish  gentleman,  who 
will  brook  no  insult  either  to  his  family  or  himself.  I  say, 
then,  name  your  time  and  place,  and  your  weapon — sword 
or  pistol,  I  don't  care  which,  I  am  ready." 


^56  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  But,  my  good  sir,  there  is  some  mystery  here  ;  I  cer- 
tainly engaged  a  female  of  that  name  to  attend  on  Miss  Fol- 
liard,  but  most  assuredly  she  was  a  well-conducted  person." 

"  What  !  Madam  Herbert  well  conducted  !    Do  you  imag- 
ine, sir,  that  I  am  a  fool  ?     Did  she  not  admit  that  you  de 
bauched  her  ?" 

11  It  could  not  be,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  I  know  nothing  whatso- 
ever about  her,  except  that  she  was  daughter  to  one  of  my 
tenants,  who  is  besides  a  sergeant  of  dragoons." 

"  Ah,  yes,  sir,"  replied  the  squire  sarcastically  ;  "  and  I 
tell  you  it  was  not  for  killing  and  eating  the  enemy  that  he 
was  promoted  to  his  sergeantship.  But  I  see  your  man- 
oeuvre, Sir  Robert  ;  you  wish  to  shift  the  conversation,  and 
sleep  in  a  whole  skin.  I  say  now,  I  have  provided  myself 
with  a  friend,  and  I  ask,  will  you  fight  ?" 

"  And  why  not  have  sent  your  friend,  Mr.  Folliard,  as  is 
usual  upon  such  occasions  ?" 

11  Because  he  is  knocked  up,  after  a  fit  of  drink,  and  I 
cannot  be  just  so  cool,  under  such  an  insult,  as  to  command 
patience  to  wait.  My  friend,  however,  will  attend  us  on  the 
ground  ;  but,  I  ask.  again,  will  you  fight  ?" 

"  Most  assuredly  not,  sir  ;  I  am  an  enemy  to  duelling  on 
principle  ;  but  in  your  case  I  could  not  think  of  it,  even  if 
I  were  not.  What  !  raise  my  hand  against  the  life  of 
Helen's  father  ! — no,  sir,  I'd  sooner  die  than  do  so.  Be- 
sides, Mr.  Folliard,  I  am,  so  to  speak,  not  my  own  property, 
but  that  of  my  King,  my  Government,  and  my  country  ; 
and  under  these  circumstances  not  at  liberty  to  dispose  of 
my  life,  unless  in  their  quarrel." 

11  I  see,"  replied  the  squire  bitterly  ;  "  it  is  certainly  an 
admirable  description  of  loyalty  that  enables  a  man,  who  is 
base  enough  to  insult  the  very  woman  who  was  about  to  be- 
come his  wife,  and  to  involve  her  own  father  in  the  insult, 
to  ensconce  himself,  like  a  coward,  behind  his  loyalty,  and 
refuse  to  give  the  satisfaction  of  a  man,  or  a  gentleman." 

"  But,  Mr.  Folliard,  will  you  hear  me  ?  there  must,  as  I 
said,  be  some  mystery  here  ;  I  certainly  did  recommend  a 
young  female  named  Herbert  to  you,  but  I  was  utterly  igno- 
rant of  what  you  mention." 

_  Flere  the  footman  entered,  and  whispered  something  to 
Sir  Robert,  who  apologized  to  the  squire  for  leaving  him 
two  or  three  minutes.      "  Here  is  the  last  paper,"  said  he, 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  *  257 

"  and  I  trust  that  before  you  go  I  will  be  able  to  remove 
clearly  and  fully  the  prejudices  which  you  entertain  against 
me,  and  which  originate,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  in  a  mys- 
tery which  I  am  unable  to  penetrate." 

He  then  followed  the  servant,  who  conducted  him  to 
Hennessy,  whom  he  found  in  the  back  parlor. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,"  said  he,  impatiently,  "what  is 
the  matter  now  ?' ' 

"Why,"  replied  the  other,  "I  have  one  as  good  as 
bagged,  Sir  Robert." 

"  One  what?" 

"  Why,  a  priest,  sir." 

"Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,  I  am  particularly  engaged  now  ; 
but  as  to  Reilly,  can  you  not  come  upon  his  trail  ?  I  would 
rather  have  him  than  a  dozen  priests  ;  however,  remain  here 
for  about  twenty  minutes,  or  say  half  an  hour,  and  I  will 
talk  with  you  at  more  length.  For  the  present  I  am  most 
particularly  engaged." 

"  Very  well,  Sir  Robert,  I  shall  await  your  leisure  ;  but, 
as  to  Reilly,  I  have  every  reason  to  think  that  he  has  left  the 
country." 

Sir  Robert,  on  going  into  the  hall,  saw  the  porter  open 
the  door,  and  Miss  Herbert  presented  herself. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  is  this  you  ?  I  am  glad  you  came  ;  fol- 
low me  into  the  front  parlor." 

She  accordingly  did  so  ;  and  after  he  had  shut  the  door 
he  addressed  her  as  follows  : 

"  Now,  tell  me  how  the  devil  you  were  discovered  ;  or 
were  you  accessory  yourself  to  the  discovery,  by  your  egre- 
gious folly  and  vanity  ?" 

"  Oh,  la,  Sir  Robert,  do  you  think  I  am  a  fool  ?" 

"  I  fear  you  are  little  short  of  it,"  he  replied  ;  "  at  all 
events,  you  have  succeeded  in  knocking  up  my  marrage  with 
Miss  Folliard.  How  did  it  happen  that  they  found  you 
out?" 

She  then  detailed  to  him  the  circumstances  exactly  as  the 
reader  is  acquainted  with  them. 

He  paused  for  some  time,  and  then  said,  "  There  is  some 
mystery  at  the  bottom  of  this  which  I  must  fathom.  Have 
you  any  reason  to  know  how  the  family  became  acquainted 
with  your  history  ?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  in  the  least." 


258  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Do  you  think  Miss  Folliard  meets  any  person  pri- 
vately ?" 

"  Not,  sir,  while  I  was  with  her." 

11  Did  she  ever  attempt  to  go  out  by  herself  ?" 

11  Not,  sir,  while  I  was  with  her." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do  ;  her 
father  is  above  with  me  now,  in  a  perfect  hurricane  of  indig- 
nation. Now  you  must  say  that  the  girl  Herbert,  whom  I 
recommended  to  the  squire,  was  a  friend  of  yours  ;  that  she 
gave  you  the  letter  of  recommendation  which  I  gave  her  to 
Mr.  Folliard  ;  that  having  married  her  sweetheart  and  left 
the  country  with  him,  you  were  tempted  to  present  yourself 
in  her  stead,  and  to  assume  her  name.  I  will  call  you  up 
by  and  by  ;  but  what  name  will  you  take  ?" 

"  My  mother's  name,  sir,  was  Wilson." 

11  Very  good  ;  what  was  her  Christian  name  ?" 

11  Catherine,  sir." 

"  And  you  must  say  that  I  knew  nothing  whatsoever  of 
the  imposture  you  were  guilty  of.  I  shall  make  it  worth 
your  while  ;  and  if  you  don't  get  well  through  with  it,  and 
enable  me  to  bamboozle  the  old  fellow,  I  have  done  with 
you.     I  shall  send  for  you  by  and  by." 

He  then  rejoined  the  squire,  who  was  walking  impatiently 
about  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  he,  "I  have  to  apologize  to  you 
for  this  seeming  neglect  ;  I  had  most  important  business  to 
transact,  and  I  merely  went  downstairs  to  tell  the  gentleman 
that  I  could  not  possibly  attend  to  it  now,  and  to  request 
him  to  come  in  a  couple  of  hours  hence  ;  pray  excuse  me, 
for  no  business  could  be  so  important  as  that  in  which  I  am 
now  engaged  with  you." 

"  Yes,  but  in  the  name  of  an  outraged  father,  I  demand 
again  to  know  whether  you  will  give  me  satisfaction  or  not  ?" 

11  I  have  already  answered  you,  my  dear  sir,  and  if  you 
will  reflect  upon  the  reasons  I  have  given  you,  I  am  certain 
you  will  admit  that  I  have  the  laws  both  of  God  and  man  on 
my  side,  and  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  regulate  my  conduct  by 
both.  As  to  the  charge  you  bring  against  me,  about  the 
girl  Herbert,  I  am  both  ignorant  and  innocent  of  it." 

"  Why,  sir,  how  can  you  say  so  ?  how  have  you  the  face 
to  say  so  ?  did  you  not  give  her  a  letter  of  recommendation 
to  me,  pledging  yourself  for  her  moral  character  and  fidelity?' ' 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  259 

"  I  grant  it,  but  still  I  pledge  you  my  honor  that  I  looked 
upon  her  as  an  extremely  proper  person  to  be  about  your 
daughter  ;  you  know,  sir,  that  you  as  well  as  I  have  had — 
and  have  still — apprehensions  as  to  Reilly's  conduct  and  in- 
fluence over  her  ;  and  1  did  fear,  and  so  did  you,  that  the 
maid  who  then  attended  her,  and  to  whom  I  was  told  she 
was  attached  with  such  unusual  affection,  might  have  availed 
herself  of  her  position,  and  either  attempted  to  seduce 
her  from  her  faith,  or  connive  at  private  meetings  with 
Reilly." 

"  Sir  Robert,  I  know  your  plausibility — and,  upon  my 
soul,  I  pay  it  a  high  compliment  when  I  say  it  is  equal  to 
your  cowardice." 

11  Mr.  Folliard,  I  can  bear  all  this  with  patience,  especially 
from  you — What's  this  ?"  he  exclaimed,  addressing  the  foot- 
man, who  rushed  into  the  room  in  a  state  of  considerable 
excitement. 

"  Why,  Sir  Robert,  there  is  a  young  woman  below,  who  is 
crying  and  lamenting,  and  saying  she  must  see  Mr.  Fol- 
liard." 

"  Damnation,  sir,"  exclaimed  Sir  Robert,  "  what  is  this  ? 
why  am  I  interrupted  in  such  a  manner  ?  I  cannot  have  a 
gentleman  ten  minutes  in  my  study,  engaged  upon  private 
and  important  business,  but  in  bolts  some  of  you,  to  inter- 
rupt and  disturb  us.     What  does  the  girl  want  with  vie  V% 

"  It  is  not  you  she  wants,  sir,"  replied  the  footman,  "  but 
his  honor,  Mr.  Folliard." 

11  Well,  tell  her  to  wait  until  he  is  disengaged." 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Folliard,  "send  her  up  at  once; 
what  the  devil  can  this  be  ?  but  you  shall  witness  it." 

The  baronet  smiled  knowingly.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  Mr. 
Folliard,  upon  my  honor,  I  thought  you  had  sown  your  wild 
oats  many  a  year  ago  ;  and,  by  the  way,  according  to  all  ac- 
counts— hem — but  no  matter  ;  this,  to  be  sure,  will  be  rather 
a  late  crop." 

11  No,  sir,  I  sowed  my  wild  oats  in  the  right  season,  when 
I  was  hot,  young,  and  impetuous  ;  but  long  before  your  age, 
sir,  that  field  had  been  allowed  to  lie  barren." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded  when  Miss  Herbert,  acting 
upon  a  plan  of  her  own,  which,  were  not  the  baronet  a  man 
of  the  most  imperturbable  coolness,  might  have  staggered, 
if  not  altogether  confounded  him,  entered  the  room. 


260  WILLY  R £ ILLY. 

"  Oli,  sir  !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  kneeling 
before  Mr.  Folliard,  "  can  you  forgive  and  pardon  me  ?" 

"  It  is  not  against  you,  foolish  girl,  that  my  resentment 
is  or  shall  be  directed,  but  against  the  man  who  employed 
you — and  there  he  sits." 

"  Oh,  sir  !"  she  exclaimed,  again  turning  to  that  worthy 
gentleman,  who  seemed  filled  with  astonishment. 

"  In  God's  name  !"  said  he,  interrupting  his  accomplice, 
11  what  can  this  mean  ?     Who  are  you,  my  good  girl  ?" 

11  My  name's  Catherine  Wilson,  sir." 

11  Catherine  Wilson  !"  exclaimed  the  squire — "  why,  con- 
found your  brazen  face,  are  you  not  the  person  who  styled 
yourself  Miss  Herbert,  and  who  lived,  thank  God,  but  for  a 
short  time  only,  in  my  family  ?" 

"  I  lived  in  your  family,  sir,  but  I  am  not  the  Miss  Her- 
bert that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  recommended  to  you." 

"  I  certainly  know  nothing  about  you,  my  good  girl,"  re- 
plied Sir  Robert,  "  nor  do  I  recollect  having  ever  seen  you 
before  ;  but  proceed  with  what  you  have  to  say,  and  let  us 
hear  it  at  once." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  perhaps  you  are  not  the  gentleman  as  is 
known  to  be  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — him  as  hunts  the 
priests.  Oh,  la,  I'll  surely  be  sent  to  jail.  Gentlemen,  if 
you  promise  not  to  send  me  to  jail,  I'll  tell  you  every  thing. ' ' 

11  Well,  then,  proceed,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  I  will  not  send 
you  to  jail,  provided  you  tell  the  truth." 

"  Nor  I,  my  good  girl,"  added  Sir  Robert,  "but  upon 
the  same  conditions." 

'*  Well,  then,  gentlemen,  I  was  acquainted  with  Miss 
Herbert — she  is  Hirish,  but  I'm  English.  This  gentleman 
gave  her  a  letter  to  you,  Mr.  Folliard,  to  get  her  as  maid  to 
Miss  Helen — she  told  me — oh,  my  goodness,  I  shall  surely 
be  sent  to  jail." 

11  Go  on,  girl,"'  said  the  baronet  somewhat  sternly,  by 
which  tone  of  voice  he  intimated  to  her  that  she  was  pursu- 
ing the  right  course,  and  she  was  quick  enough  to  under- 
stand as  much. 

"  Well,"  she  proceeded,  "  after  Miss  Herbert  had  got  the 
letter,  she  told  her  sweetheart,  who  wouldn't  by  no  means 
allow  her  to  take  service,  because  as  why,  he  wanted  to  marry 
her  ;  well,  she  consented,  and  they  did  get  married,  and 
both  of  them    left    the   country  because  her  father   wasn't 


WILLY  REILLY.  261 

consenting.  As  the  letter  was  of  no  use  to  her  then,  I 
asked  her  for  it,  and  offered  myself  in  her  name  to  you,  sir, 
and  that  was  the  way  I  came  into  your  family  for  a  short 
time." 

The  baronet  rose  up,  in  well-feigned  agitation,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Unfortunate  girl  !  whoever  you  may  be,  you 
know  not  the  serious  mischief  and  unhappiness  that  your 
imposture  was  nearly  entailing  upon  me." 

11  But  did  you  not  say  that  you  bore  an  illegitimate  child 
to  this  gentleman  ?"  asked  the  squire. 

"  Oh,  la  !  no,  sir  ;  you  know  I  denied  that  ;  I  never  bore 
an  illegitimate  child  ;  I  bore  a  love-child,  but  not  to  him  ; 
and  there  is  no  harm  in  that,  sure." 

"  Well,  she  certainly  has  exculpated  you,  Sir  Robert." 

"  Gentlemen,  will  you  excuse  and  pardon  me  ?  and  will 
you  promise  not  to  send  me  to  jail  ?" 

"  Go  about  your  business,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  unfor- 
tunate girl,  and  be  guilty  of  no  such  impostures  in  fu- 
ture. Your  conduct  has  nearly  been  the  means  of  putting 
enmity  between  two  families  of  rank  ;  or  rather  of  alienating 
one  of  them  from  the  confidence  and  good  will  of  the  other. 
Go." 

She  then  courtesied  to  each,  shedding,  at  the  same  time, 
what  seemed  to  be  bitter  tears  of  remorse — and  took  her  de- 
parture, each  of  them  looking  after  her,  and  then  at  the 
other,  with  surprise  and  wonder. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  Sir  Robert  solemnly,  "  I 
have  one  question  to  ask  you,  and  it  is  this  :  could  I  possi- 
bly, or  by  any  earthly  natural  means,  have  been  apprised  of 
the  honor  of  your  visit  to  me  this  day  ?  I  ask  you  in  a  seri- 
ous— yes,  and  in  a  solemn  spirit  ;  because  the  happiness  of 
my  future  life  depends  on  your  reply." 

"  Why,  no,"  replied  the  credulous  squire,  "  hang  it,  no, 
man — no,  Sir  Robert  ;  I'll  do  you  that  justice  ;  I  never 
mentioned  my  intention  of  coming  to  call  you  out,  to  any 
individual  but  one,  and  that  on  my  way  hither  ;  he  was  un- 
well, too,  after  a  hard  night's  drinking  ;  but  he  said  he 
would  shake  himself  up,  and  be  ready  to  attend  me  as  soon 
as  the  place  of  meeting  should  be  settled  on.  In  point  of 
fact,  I  did  not  intend  to  see  you  to-day,  but  to  send  him 
with  the  message  ;  but,  as  I  said,  he  was  knocked  up  for  .1 
time,  and  you  know  my  natural  impatience.     No,  certain  y 


262  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

not,  it  was  in  every  sense  impossible  that  you  could  have 
expected  me  :  yes,  if  the  devil  was  in  it,  I  will  do  you  that 
justice." 

"  Well,  I  have  another  question  to  ask,  my  dear  friend, 
equally  important  with,  if  not  more  so  than,  the  other.  Do 
you  hold  me  free  from  all  blame  in  what  has  happened 
through  the  imposture  of  that  wretched  girl  ?" 

11  Why,  after  what  has  occurred  just  now,  I  certainly  must, 
Sir  Robert.  As  you  had  no  anticipation  of  my  visit,  you 
certainly  could  not,  nor  had  you  time  to  get  up  a  scene." 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,  you  have  taken  a  load  off  my 
heart  ;  and  I  will  candidly  confess  to  you  that  I  have  had 
my  frailties  like  other  men,  sown  my  wild  oats  like  other 
men  ;  but,  unlike  those  who  are  not  ashamed  to  boast  of  such 
exploits,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  trumpet  my  own 
feelings.  I  do  not  say,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  have  always 
been  a  saint." 

11  Why,  now,  that's  manly  and  candid,  Sir  Robert,  and  I 
like  you  the  better  for  it.  Yes,  I  do  exonerate  you  from 
blame  in  this.  There  certainly  was  sincerity  in  that  wench's 
tears,  and  be  hanged  to  her  ;  for,  as  you  properly  said,  she 
was  devilish  near  putting  between  our  families,  and  knocking 
up  our  intimacy.  It  is  a  delightful  thing  to  think  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  disabuse  poor  Helen's  mind  upon  the  sub- 
ject ;  for,  I  give  you  my  honor,  it  caused  her  the  greatest 
distress,  and  excited  her  mind  to  a  high  pitch  of  indignation 
against  you  ;  but  I  shall  set  all  to  rights." 

"And  now  that  the  matter  is  settled,  Mr.  Folliard,  we 
must  have  lunch.  I  will  give  you  a  glass  of  Burgundy, 
which,  I  am  sure,  you  will  like." 

11  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  placable  and  hearty  old 
squire  ;  "  after  the  agitation  of  the  day  a  good  glass  of  Bur- 
gundy will  serve  me  certainly. ' ' 

Lunch  was  accordingly  ordered,  and  the  squire,  after 
taking  half  a  dozen  bumpers  of  excellent  wine,  got  into  fine 
spirits,  shook  hands  as  cordially  as  ever  with  the  baronet, 
and  drove  home  completely  relieved  from  the  suspicions 
which  he  had  entertained. 

^  The  squire,  on  his  return  home,  immediately  called  for 
his  daughter,  but  for  some  time  to  no  purpose.  The  old 
man  began  to  get  alarmed,  and  had  not  only  Helen's  room 
searched,  but  every  room  in  the  house.     At   length  a  ser- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  263 

vant  informed  him  that  she  was  tending  and  arranging  the 
green-house  flowers  in  the  garden. 

"  Oh,  ay  !"  said  he,  after  he  had  dismissed  the  servants, 
"  Thank  God — thank  God  !  I  will  go  out  to  the  dear  girl  ; 
for  she  is  a  dear  girl,  and  it  is  a  sin  to  suspect  her.  I  wish 
to  heaven  that  that  scoundrel  Reilly  would  turn  Protestant, 
and  he  should  have  her  with  all  the  veins  of  my  heart. 
Upon  my  soul,  putting  religion  out  of  the  question,  one 
would  think  that,  in  other  respects,  they  were  made  for  each 
other.  But  it's  all  this  cursed  pride  of  his  that  prevents 
him  ;  as  if  it  signified  what  any  person's  religion  is,  pro- 
vided he's  an  honest  man,  and  a  loyal  subject." 

He  thus  proceeded  with  his  sololoquy  until  he  reached 
the  garden,  where  he  found  Reilly  and  her  arranging  the 
plants  and  flowers  in  a  superb  green-house. 

"Well,  Helen,  my  love,  how  is  the  green-house  doing? 
Eh  !  why,  what  is  this  ?" 

At  this  exclamation  the  lovers  started,  but  the  old  fellow 
was  admiring  the  improvement,  which  even  he  couldn't  but 
notice. 

"  Why,  what  is  this  ?"  he  proceeded  ;  "  by  the  light  of 
day,  Helen,  you  have  made  this  a  little  paradise  of  flowers." 

"  It  was  not  I,  papa,"  she  replied  ;  "all  that  I  have  been 
able  to  contribute  to  the  order  and  beauty  of  the  place  has 
been  very  slight  indeed.  It  is  all  the  result  of  this  poor 
man's  taste  and  skill.      He's  an  admirable  botanist." 

"  By  the  great  Boyne,  my  girl,  I  think  he  could  lick  Mal- 
comson  himself,  as  a  botanist." 

"  Shir,"  observed  Reilly,  "  the  young  lady  is  underwal- 
uin'  herself  ;  sure,  miss,  it  was  yourself  directed  me  what  to 
do,  and  how  to  do  it." 

"  Look  at  that  old  chap,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  who 
felt  in  great  good  humor  ;  first,  because  he  found  that  Helen 
was  safe  ;  and  again,  because  Sir  Robert,  as  the  unsuspect- 
ing old  man  thought,  had  cleared  up  the  circumstances  of 
Miss  Herbert's  imposture  ;  "  I  say,  Helen,  look  at  that  old 
chap  :  isn't  he  a  nice  bit  of  goods  to  run  away  with  a  pretty 
girl  ?  and  what  a  beautiful  taste  she  must  have  had  to  go 
with  him  !  Upon  my  soul,  it  beats  cockfighting — confound 
me,  but  it  does." 

Helen's  face  became  crimson  as  he  spoke  ;  and  yet,  such 
was  the  ludicrous  appearance  which  Reilly  made,  when  put 


264  WILLY  REILLY. 

in  connection  with  the  false  scent  on  which  her  father  was 
proceeding  at  such  a  rate,  and  the  act  of  gallantry  imputed 
to  him,  that  a  strong  feeling  of  humor  overcame  her,  and 
she  burst  into  a  loud  ringing  laugh,  which  she  could  not, 
for  some  time,  restrain  ;  in  this  she  was  heartily  joined 
by  her  father,  who  laughed  till  the  tears  came  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  And  yet,  Helen — ha — ha — ha,  he's  a  stalwart  old  rogue 
still,  and  must  have  been  a  devil  of  a  tyke  when  he  was 
young." 

After  another  fit  of  laughter  from  both  father  and  daugh- 
ter, the  squire  said  : 

11  Now,  Helen,  my  iove,  go  in.  I  have  good  news  for 
you,  which  I  will  acquaint  you  with  by  and  by." 

When  she  left  the  garden,  her  father  addressed  Reilly  as 
follows  : 

"  Now,  my  good  fellow,  will  you  tell  me  how  you  came  to 
know  about  Miss  Herbert  having  been  seduced  by  Sir  Rob- 
ert Whitecraft  ?" 

"  Fwhy,  shir,  from  common  report,  shir." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  But  don't  you  think,"  he  replied,  "  that 
common  report  is  a  common  liar,  as  it  mostly  has  been,  and 
is,  in  this  case.  That's  all  I  have  to  say  upon  the  subject. 
I  have  traced  the  affair,  and  find  it  to  be  a  falsehood  from 
beginning  to  ending.  I  have.  And  now,  go  on  as  you're 
doing,  and  I  will  make  Malcomson  raise  your  wages." 

11  Thank  you,  shir,"  and  he  touched  his  nondescript  with 
an  air  of  great  thankfulness  and  humility. 

"  Helen,  my  darling,"  said  her  father,  on  entering  her 
own  sitting-room,  "  I  said  I  had  good  news  for  you." 

Helen  looked  at  him  with  a  doubtful  face,  and  simply 
said,  "  I  hope  it  is  good,  papa." 

"  Why,  my  child,  I  won't  enter  into  particulars  ;  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  I  discovered  from  an  accidental  meeting 
with  that  wretched  girl  we  had  here  that  she  was  not  Miss 
Herbert,  as  she  called  herself,  at  all,  but  another,  named 
Catherine  Wilson,  who,  having  got  from  Herbert  the  letter  of 
recommendaton  which  I  read  to  you,  had  the  effrontery  to 
pass  herself  for  her  ;  but  the  other  report  was  false.  The 
girl  Wilson,  apprehensive  that  either  I  or  Sir  Robert  might 
send  her  to  jail,  having  seen  my  carriage  stop  at  Sir  Rob- 
ert's house,  came,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  beg  that  if  we 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  265 

would  not  punish  her  she  would  tell  us  the  truth,  and  she 
did  so." 

Helen  mused  for  some  time,  and  seemed  to  decide  in- 
stantly upon  the  course  of  action  she  should  pursue,  or, 
rather,  the  course  which  she  had  previously  proposed  to  her- 
self. She  saw  clearly,  and  had  long  known,  that  in  the  tac- 
tics and  stratagems  of  life  her  blunt  but  honest  father  was 
no  match  at  all  for  the  deep  hypocrisy  and  deceitful  plausi- 
bility of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  The  consequence  was, 
that  she  allowed  her  father  to  take  his  own  way,  without 
either  remonstrance  or  contradiction.  She  knew  very  well 
that  on  this  occasion,  as  on  every  other  where  their  wits  and 
wishes  came  in  opposition,  Sir  Robert  was  always  able  to 
out-general  and  overreach  him  ;  she  therefore  resolved  to 
agitate  herself  as  little  as  possible,  and  to  allow  matters  to 
flow  on  tranquilly,  until  the  crisis — the  moment  for  action 
came. 

"  Papa,"  she  replied,  "  this  intelligence  must  make  your 
mind  very  easy  ;  I  hope,  however,  you  will  restore  poor 
faithful  Connor  to  me.  I  never  had  such  an  affectionate 
and  kind  creature  ;  and,  besides,  not  one  of  them  could  dress 
me  with  such  skill  and  taste  as  she  could.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  have  her  back,  sir?  " 

"  I  will,  Helen  ;  but  take  care  she  doesn't  make  a  Papist 
of  you." 

"  Indeed,  papa,  that  is  a  strange  whim  :  why,  the  poor 
girl  never  opened  her  lips  to  me  on  the  subject  of  religion 
during  her  life  ;  nor,  if  I  saw  that  she  attempted  it,  would  1 
permit  her.  I  am  no  theologian,  papa,  and  detest  polemics, 
because  I  have  always  heard  that  those  who  are  most  ad- 
dicted to  polemical  controversy  have  least  religion." 

11  Well,  my  love,  you  shall  have  back  poor  Connor  ;  and 
now  I  must  go  and  look  over  some  papers  in  my  study. 
Good-by,  my  love  ;  and  observe,  Helen,  don't  stay  out 
too  late  in  the  garden,  lest  the  chill  of  the  air  might  injure 
your  health." 

"  But  you  know  /never  do,  and  never  did,  papa." 

"  Well,  good-by  again,  my  love." 

He  then  left  her,  and  withdrew  to  his  study  to  sign  some 
papers,  and  transact  some  business,  which  he  had  allowed 
to  run  into  arrear.  When  he  had  been  there  better  than  an 
hour,  he  rang  the  bell,   and  desired  that  Malcomson,   the 


266  WILLY  R LILLY. 

gardener,  should  be  sent  to  him,  and  that  self-sufficient  and 
pedantic  person  made  his  appearance  accordingly. 

"  Well,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  how  do  you  like  the 
bearded  fellow  in  the  garden  ?' ' 

44  Ou,  yer  honor,  weel  eneugh  ;  he  does  ken  something  o' 
the  sceence  o'  buttany,  an'  'am  thinkin'  he  must  hae  been  a 
gude  spell  in  Scotland,  for  I  canna  guess  whare  else  he  could 
hae  become  acquent  wi'  it. ' ' 

11  I  see,  Malcomson,  you'll  still  persist  in  your  confounded 
pedantry  about  your  science.  Now,  what  the  devil  has  sci- 
ence to  do  with  botany  or  gardening  ?" 

11  Weel,  your  honor,  it  wadna  just  become  me  to  dispute 
wi'  ye  upon  that  or  any  ither  subjeck  ;  but  for  a'  that,  it 
required  profoond  sceence,  and  vera  extensive  learnin'  to 
classify  an'  arrange  a'  the  plants  o'  the  yearth,  an'  to  gie 
them  names,  by  whilk  they  can  be  known  throughout  a'  the 
nations  o'  the  warld." 

11  Well,  well — I  suppose  I  must  let  you  have  your  way." 

"Why,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson,  '"am  sure  it 
mair  becomes  me  to  let  you  hae  yours  ;  but  regerding  this 
ould  carl,  I  winna  say  but  he  has  been  weel  indoctrinated  in 
the  sceence." 

"  Ahem  !  well,  well,  go  on." 

"  An'  it's  no  easy  to  guess  whare  he  could  hae  gotten  it. 
Indeed,  'am  of  opinion  that  he's  no  without  a  hantle  o'  book 
fair  ;  for,  to  do  him  justice,  de'il  a  question  I  spier  at  him, 
anent  the  learned  names  o'  the  rare  plants,  that  he  hasna  at 
his  ringer  ends,  and  gies  to  me  off-hand.  Naebody  but  a 
man  that  has  gotten  book  lair  could  do  yon." 

11  Book  lair,  what  is  that  ?" 

11  Ou,  just  a  correck  knowledge  o'  the  learned  names  of 
the  plants.  I  dinna  say,  and  I  winna  say,  but  he's  a  velli- 
able  assistant  to  me,  an'  I  shouldna  wish  to  pairt  wi'  him. 
If  he'd  only  shave  off  yon  beard,  an'  let  himsel'  be  decently 
happed  in  good  claiths,  why  he  might  pass  in  ony  gentleman's 
gerden  for  a  skeelful  buttanist." 

11  Is  he  as  good  a  kitchen  gardener  as  he  is  in  the  green- 
house, and  among  the  flowers  ?' ' 

"  Weel,  your  honor,  guid  troth,  'am  sairly  puzzled  there  ; 
hoot,  no,  sir  ;  de'il  a  thing  almost  he  kens  about  the  kitchen 
gerden — a'  his  strength  lies  among  the  flowers  and  in  the 
green-house." 


WILLY  REILLY.  267 

11  Well,  well,  that's  where  we  principally  want  him.  I 
sent  for  you,  Malcomson,  to  desire  you'd  raise  his  wages — 
the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire  ;  and  a  good  laborer  of  good 
hire.     Let  him  have  four  shillings  a  week  additional." 

"  Troth,  your  honor,  'am  no  sayin'  but  he  weel  deserves 
it  ;  but,  Lord  haud  a  care  o'  us,  he's  a  queer  one,  yon." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

11  Why,  de'il  heat  he  seems  to  care  about  siller  any  mair 
than  if  it  was  sklate  stains.  On  Saturday  last,  when  he  was 
paid  his  weekly  wages  by  the  steward,  he  met  a  puir  sickly- 
lookin'  auld  wife,  wi'  a  string  o'  sickly-looking  weans  at  the 
body's  heels  ;  she  didna  ask  him  for  charity,  for,  in  troth, 
he  appeared,  binna  it  wearna  for  the  weans,  as  great  an  ob- 
jeck  as  hersel';  noo,  what  wad  yer  honor  think?  he  gaes 
ower  and  gies  till  her  a  hale  crown  o'  siller  out  o'  his  ain 
wage.    W7as  every  onything  heard  like  yon." 

"Well,  but  I  know  the  cause  of  it,  Malcomson.  He's 
under  a  penance,  and  can  neither  shave  nor  change  his  dress 
till  his  silly  penance  is  out  ;  and  I  suppose  it  was  to  wash 
off  a  part  of  it  that  he  gave  this  foolish  charity  to  the  poor 
woman  and  her  children.  Come,  although  I  condemn  the 
folly  of  it,  I  don't  like  him  the  worse  for  it." 

"  Hout  awa',  your  honor,  what  is  it  but  rank  Papistry, 
and  a  dependence  upon  filthy  works.  The  doited  auld 
carl,  to  throw  aff  his  siller  that  gate  ;  but  that's  Papistry  a' 
ower — substituting  works  for  grace  and  faith — a'  Papistry, 
a'  Papistry  !  Well,  your  honor,  I  sal  be  conform  to  your 
wushes — it's  my  duty,  that." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AWFUL   CONDUCT    OF    SQUIRE    FOLLIARD — FERGUS   REILLY 
BEGINS    TO    CONTRAVENE    THE    RED    RAPPAREE. 

AFTER  Malcomson  quitted  him,  the  squire,  with  his 
golden-headed  cane,  went  to  saunter  about  through  his 
beautiful  grounds  and  his  noble  demesne,  proud,  certainly, 
of  his  property,  nor  insensible  to  the  beautiful  scenery  which 
it  presented   from  so  many  points  of  observation.     He  had 


268  WILLY  REILLY. 

not  been  long  here  when  a  poor-looking  peasant,  dressed  in 
shabby  frieze,  approached  him  at  as  fast  a  pace  as  he  could 
accomplish  ;  and  the  squire,  after  looking  at  him,  exclaimed, 
in  an  angry  tone  : 

"  Well,  you  rascal,  what  the  devil  brings  you  here  ?" 

The  man  stood  for  a  little,  and  seemed  so  much  exhausted 
and  out  of  breath  that  he  could  not  speak. 

"  I  say,  you  unfortunate  old  vagrant,"  repeated  the 
squire,  "  what  brought  you  here  ?" 

"  It  is  a  case  of  either  life  or  death,  sir,"  replied  the  poor 
peasant. 

"  Why,"  said  the  squire,  "  what  crime  did  you  commit  ? 
Or,  perhaps,  you  broke  prison,  and  are  flying  from  the 
officers  of  justice  ;  eh  !  is  that  it  ?  And  you  come  to  ask  a 
magistrate  to  protect  you  !" 

"I  am  flying  from  the  agents  of  persecution,  sir,  and 
know  not  where  to  hide  my  head  in  order  to  avoid  them." 

The  hard-pressed  but  amiable  priest — for  such  he  was — 
adopted  this  language  of  truth,  because  he  knew  the  squire's 
character,  and  felt  that  it  would  serve  him  more  effectually 
than  if  he  had  attempted  to  conceal  his  profession.  "  I  am  a 
Catholic  priest,  sir,  and  felt  from  bitter  experience  that  this 
disguise  was  necessary  to  the  preservation  of  my  life.  I 
throw  myself  upon  your  honor  and  generosity,  for  although 
hasty,  sir,  you  are  reported  to  have  a  good  and  kind  heart." 

"  You  are  disposed  to  place  confidence  in  me,  then  ?" 

11  I  am,  sir  ;  my  being  before  you  now,  and  putting  myself 
in  your  power,  is  a  proof  of  it." 

"  Who  are  pursuing  you  ?     Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — eh  ?" 

11  No,  sir,  Captain  Smellpriest  and  his  gang." 

"  Ay,  out  of  the  frying  pan  into  the  fire  ;  although  I  don't 
know  that,  either.  They  say  Smellpriest  can  do  a  generous 
thing  sometimes — but  the  other,  when  priest-hunting,  never. 
What's  your  name  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  without  hesitation,  sir — Macguire  ;  I'm  of 
the  Macguires  of  Fermanagh." 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  why,  then,  you  have  good  blood  in  your 
veins.  But  what  offence  were  you  guilty  of  that  you — but  I 
need  not  ask  ;  it  is  enough,  in  the  present  state  of  the  laws, 
that  you  are  a  Catholic  priest.  In  the  meantime,  are  you 
aware  that  I  myself  transported  a  Catholic  priest,  and  that 
he  would  have  swung  only  for  my  daughter,  who  went  to 


IV ILLY  RE  ILLY.  269 

the  viceroy,  and,  with  much  difficulty,  got  his  sentence  com- 
muted to  transportation  for  life  ;  I  myself  had  already  tried 
it,  and  failed  ;  but  she  succeeded,  God  bless  her  !" 

"Yes,  God  bless  her!"  replied  the  priest,  "she  suc- 
ceeded, and  her  fame  has  gone  far  and  near,  in  conse- 
quence ;  yes,  may  God  of  his  mercy  bless  and  guard  her 
from  all  evil  !"  and  as  the  poor  hunted  priest  spoke,  the 
tears  came  to  his  eyes.  This  symptom  of  respect  and  affec- 
tion, prompted  by  the  generous  and  heroic  conduct  of  the 
far-famed  Cooleen  Bawn,  touched  her  father,  and  saved  the 
priest. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  musing  for  a  while,  "  so  you  say 
Smellpriest  is  after  you  ?" 

"  He  is,  sir  ;  they  saw  me  at  a  distance,  across  the  coun- 
try, scrambling  over  the  park  wall,  and  indeed  I  was  near 
falling  into  their  hands  by  the  difficulty  I  had  in  getting 
over  it." 

"  Well,  come,  "  replied  the  squire,  "  since  you  have  had 
the  courage  to  place  confidence  in  me,  I  won't  abuse  it  ; 
come  along,  I  will  both  conceal  and  protect  you.  I  presume 
there  is  little  time  to  be  lost,  for  those  priest  hounds  will  be 
apt  to  ride  round  to  the  entrance  gate,  which  I  will  desire 
the  porter  to  close  and  lock,  and  then  leave  the  lodge." 

On  their  way  home  he  did  so,  and  ordered  the  porter  up 
to  the  house.  The  magnificent  avenue  was  a  serpentine 
one,  and  our  friends  had  barely  time  to  get  out  of  sight  of 
the  lodge,  by  a  turn  in  it,  when  they  heard  the  voices  of  the 
pursuers,  hallooing  for  the  porter,  and  thundering  at  the 
gate. 

11  Ay,  thunder  away,  only  don't  injure  my  gate,  Smell- 
priest,  or  I'll  make  you  replace  it  ;  bawl  yourselves  hoarse — 
you  are  on  the  wrong  side  for  once  !" 

When  they  were  approaching  the  hall-door,  which  gener- 
ally lay  open — 

"  Confound  me,"  said  the  squire,  "  if  I  know  what  to  do 
with  you  ;  I  trust  in  God  I  won't  get  into  odium  by  this. 
At  all  events,  let  us  steal  upstairs  as  quietly  as  we  can,  and, 
if  possible,  without  any  one  seeing  us." 

To  the  necessity  of  this  the  priest  assented,  and  they  had 
reached  the  first  landing  of  the  staircase  when  out  popped 
right  in  their  teeth  two  housemaids  each  with  brush  in  hand. 
Now  it  instantly  occurred  to  the  squire  that  in  this  unlucky 


270  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

crisis  bribery  was  the  safest  resource.     He  accordingly  ad- 
dressed them  : 

11  Come  here,  you  jades,  don't  say  a  word  about  this 
man's  presence  here — don't  breathe  it  ;  here's  five  shillings 
apiece  for  you,  and  let  one  of  you  go  and  bring  me  up,  se- 
cretly, the  key  of  the  green-room  in  the  garret  ;  it  has  not 
been  opened  for  some  time.  Be  quick  now  ;  or  stay,  desire 
Lanigan  to  fetch  it,  and  refreshment  also  ;  there's  cold  veni- 
son and  roast  beef,  and  a  bottle  of  wine  ;  tell  Lanigan  I'm 
going  to  lunch,  and  to  lay  the  table  in  my  study.  Lanigan 
can  be  depended  on,"  he  added,  after  the  chambermaid 
had  gone,  "  for  when  I  concealed  another  priest  here  once, 
he  was  entrusted  with  the  secret,  and  was  faithful." 

Now  it  so  happened  that  one  of  those  maids,  who  was  a 
very  bitter  Protestant,  at  once  recognized  Father  Maguire, 
notwithstanding  his  disguise.  She  had  been  a  servant  for 
four  or  five  years  in  the  house  of  a  wealthy  farmer  who  lived 
adjoining  him,  and  with  whom  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
frequently  dining  when  no  danger  was  to  be  apprehended 
from  the  operation  of  the  laws.  Indeed,  she  and  Malcom- 
son,  the  gardener,  were  the  only  two  individuals  in  the 
squire's  establishment  who  were  not  Catholics.  Malcomson 
was  a  manoeuvrer,  and,  as  is  pretty  usual  with  individuals 
of  his  class  and  country,  he  looked  upon  "  Papistry"  as  an 
abomination  that  ought  to  be  removed  from  the  land.  Still, 
he  was  cautious  and  shrewd,  and  seldom  or  never  permitted 
those  opinions  to  interfere  with  or  obstruct  his  own  interests. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  the  secret  was  not  long  kept.  Esther  Wil- 
son impeached  her  master's  loyalty,  and  she  herself  was  in- 
dignantly assailed  for  her  treachery  by  Molly  Finigan,  who 
hoped  in  her  soul  that  her  master  and  young  mistress  would 
both  die  in  the  true  Church  yet. 

The  whole  kitchen  was  in  abuzz  ;  in  fact,  a  regular  scene 
ensued.  Every  one  spoke,  except  Lanigan,  who,  from  former 
experience,  understood  the  case  perfectly  ;  but,  as  for  Mal- 
comson, whose  zeal  on  this  occasion  certainly  got  the  better 
of  his  discretion,  he  seemed  thunderstruck. 

11  Eh,  sirs  !  did  ony  one  ever  hear  the  like  o'  this? — to 
hide  a  rebel  priest  frae  the  offended  laws  !  But  it  canna  be 
that  this  puir  man  is  athegether  right  in  his  head.  Lord 
ha'e  a  care  o'  us  !  the  man  surely  must  be  demented,  or  he 
wouldna  venture  to  bring  such  a  person  into  his  ain  house — 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  V.  271 

into  the  vara  house.  I  think,  Maisther  Lanigan,  it  wad 
be  just  a  precious  bit  o'  service  to  religion  and  our  laws,  to 
gang  and  tell  the  next  magistrate.  Gude  guide  us  !  what 
an  example  he  is  settin'  to  his  loyal  neighbors,  and  his  hail 
connections  !  That  ever  we  suld  see  the  like  o'  this  waefu' 
backsliding  at  his  years  !  Lord  ha'e  a  care  o'  us,  I  say 
aince  mair." 

"  Oh,  but  there's  more  to  come,"  said  one  of  them,  for, 
in  the  turmoil  produced  by  this  shocking  intelligence,  they 
had  forgotten  to  deliver  the  message  to  Lanigan. 

11  Mr.  Lanigan,"  said  Esther,  and  her  breath  was  checked 
by  a  hysteric  hiccup,  "  Mr.  Lanigan,  you  are  to  bring  up 
the  key  of  the  green-room,  and  plenty  of  venison,  roast 
beef,  and  a  bottle  of  wine  !     There  !" 

"  Saul,  Maisther  Lanigan,  I  winna  stay  langer  under  this 
roof  ;  it's  nae  cannie  ;  I'll  e'en  gang  out,  and  ha'e  some 
nonsense  clavers  wi'  yon  queer  auld  carl  i'  the  gerden.  The 
Lord  ha'e  a  care  o'  us  ! — what  will  the  warld  come  to  next !" 

He  accordingly  repaired  to  the  garden,  where  the  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  give  a  fearful  account  to  Reilly  of  their 
master's  political  profligacy.  The  latter  felt  surprised,  but 
not  at  all  at  Malcomson's  narrative.  The  fact  was,  he  knew 
the  exact  circumstances  of  the  case,  because  he  knew  the 
squire's  character,  which  was  sometimes  good,  and  some- 
times the  reverse — just  according  to  the  humor  he  might  be 
in  :  and  in  reply  observed  to  Malcomson,  that — 

"  As  his  honor  done  a  great  dale  o'  good  to  the  poor  o' 
the  counthry,  I  think  it  wouldn't  be  daicent  in  us,  Misther 
Malcomson,  to  go  for  to  publish  this  generous  act  to  the 
poor  priesht  ;  if  he  is  wrong,  let  us  lave  him  to  Gad,  shir." 

"  Ou  ay,  weel  I  dinna  but  you're  richt  ;  the  mair  that  we 
won't  hae  to  answer  for  his  transgressions  ;  sae  e'en  let 
every  herring  hang  by  its  ain  tail." 

In  the  meantime,  Lanigan,  who  undetstood  the  affair  well 
enough,  addressed  the  audience  in  the  kitchen  to  the  follow- 
ing effect  : 

11  Now,"  said  he,  "  what  a  devil  of  a  hubbub  you  all 
make  about  nothing!  Pray,  young  lady,"  addressing 
Esther  Wilson,  who  alone  had  divulged  the  circumstance, 
11  did  his  honor  desire  you  to  keep  what  you  seen  saicret  ?" 

11  He  did,  cook,  he  did,"  replied  Esther  ;  "  and  gave  us 
money  not  to  speak  about  it,  which  is  a  proof  of  his  guilt." 


272  WILLY  KELLLY. 

"  And  the  first  thing  you  did  was  to  blaze  it  to  the  whole 
kitchen  !  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  now — if  he  ever  hears  that 
you  breathed  a  syllable  of  it  to  mortal  man,  you  won't  be 
under  his  roof  two  hours." 

11  Oh,  but,  surely,  cook — " 

11  Oh,  but,  surely,  madam,"  replied  Lanigan,  "  you  talk  of 
what  you  don't  understand  ;  his  honor  knows  very  well 
what  he's  about,  and  has  authority  for  it." 

This  sobered  her  to  some  purpose  ;  and  Lanigan  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  his  master's  orders. 

It  is  true  Miss  Esther  and  Malcomson  were  now  silent, 
for  their  own  sakes  ;  but  it  did  not  remove  their  indigna- 
tion ;  so  far  from  that,  Lanigan  himself  came  in  for  a  share 
of  it,  and  was  secretly  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  the  squire's 
confidant  in  the  transaction. 

"Whilst  matters  were  in  this  position,  the  Red  Rapparee 
began  gradually  to  lose  the  confidence  of  his  unscrupulous 
employer.  He  had  promised  that  worthy  gentleman  to  be- 
tray his  former  gang,  and  deliver  them  up  to  justice,  in 
requital  for  the  protection  which  he  received  from  him. 
This  he  would  certainly  have  done,  were  it  not  for  Fergus, 
who,  happening  to  meet  one  of  them  a  day  or  two  after  the 
Rapparee  had  taken  service  with  Whitecraft  upon  the  afore- 
said condition,  informed  the  robber  of  that  fact,  and  advised 
him,  if  he  wished  to  provide  for  his  own  safety  and  that  of 
his  companions,  to  desire  them  forthwith  to  leave  the  coun- 
try, and,  if  possible,  the  kingdom.  They  accordingly  took 
the  hint  ;  some  of  them  retired  to  distant  and  remote  places, 
and  others  went  beyond  seas  for  their  security.  The  prom- 
ise, therefore,  which  the  Rapparee  had  made  to  the  baronet 
as  a  proof  of  gratitude  for  his  protection,  he  now  found  him- 
self incapable  of  fulfilling,  in  consequence  of  the  dispersion 
and  disappearance  of  his  band.  "When  he  stated  this  fact  to 
Sir  Robert,  he  gained  little  credit  from  him  ;  and  the  conse- 
quence was  that  his  patron  felt  disposed  to  think  that  he  was 
not  a  man  to  be  depended  on.  Still,  what  he  had  advanced 
in  his  own  defence  might  be  true  ;  and  although  his  confi- 
dence in  him  was  shaken,  he  resolved  to  maintain  him  yet  in 
his  service,  and  that  for  two  reasons — one  of  which  was, 
that  by  having  him  under  his  eye,  and  within  his  grasp,  he 
could  pounce  upon  him  at  any  moment  ;  the  other  was, 
that,  as  he  knew,  from  the  previous  shifts  and  necessities  of 


WILLY  REILLY.  273 

his  own  lawless  life,  all  those  dens  and  recesses  and  cav- 
erns to  which  the  Catholic  priesthood,  and  a  good  number 
of  the  people,  were  obliged  to  fly  and  conceal  themselves, 
he  must  necessarily  be  a  useful  guide  to  him  as  a  priest- 
hunter.  It  is  true  he  assured  him  that  he  had  procured  his 
pardon  from  Government,  principally,  he  said,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  own  influence,  and  because,  in  all  his  rob- 
beries, it  had  not  been  known  that  he  ever  took  away  human 
life.  In  general,  however,  this  was  the  policy  of  the  Rap- 
parees,  unless  when  they  identified  themselves  with  political 
contests  and  outrages,  and  on  those  occasions  they  were  sav- 
age and  cruel  as  fiends.  In  simple  robbery  on  the  king's 
highway,  or  in  burglaries  in  houses,  they  seldom,  almost 
never,  committed  murder,  unless  when  resisted,  and  in  de- 
fence of  their  lives.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  quite  gal- 
lant to  females,  whom  they  treated  with  a  kind  of  rude 
courtesy,  not  unfrequently  returning  the  lady  of  the  house 
her  gold  watch — but  this  only  on  occasions  when  they  had 
secured  a  large  booty  of  plate  and  money.  The  Threshers 
of  1805-6  and  '7,  so  far  as  cruelty  goes,  were  a  thousand 
times  worse  ;  for  they  spared  neither  man  nor  woman  in 
their  infamous  and  nocturnal  visits  ;  and  it  is  enough  to  say, 
besides,  that  their  cowardice  was  equal  to  their  cruelty.  It 
has  been  proved,  at  special  commissions  held  about  those 
periods,  that  four  or  five  men,  with  red  coats  on  them,  have 
made  between  two  or  three  hundred  of  the  miscreants  run 
for  their  lives,  and  they  tolerably  well  armed.  Whether  Sir 
Robert's  account  of  the  Rapparee's  pardon  was  true  or  false 
will  appear  in  due  time  ;  for  the  truth  is,  that  Whitecraft 
was  one  of  those  men  who,  in  consequence  of  his  staunch 
loyalty  and  burning  zeal  in  carrying  out  the  inhuman  meas- 
ures of  the  then  Government,  was  permitted  with  impunity 
to  run  into  a  licentiousness  of  action,  as  a  useful  public 
man,  which  no  modern  government  would,  or  dare,  permit. 
At  the  period  of  which  we.  write,  there  was  no  press,  so  to 
speak,  in  Ireland,  and  consequently  no  opportunity  of  at 
once  bringing  the  acts  of  the  Irish  Government,  or  of  public 
men,  to  the  test  of  public  opinion.  Such  men,  therefore, 
as  Whitecraft,  looked  upon  themselves  as  invested  with  ir- 
responsible power  ;  and  almost  in  every  instance  their  con- 
duct was  approved  of,  recognized,  and,  in  general,  rewarded 
by  the  Government  of  the  day.     The  Beresford  family  en- 


274  WILLY  RELLLY. 

joyed  something  like  this  unenviable  privilege,  during  the 
rebellion  of  '98,  and  for  some  time  afterwards.  We  have 
alluded  to  Mrs.  Oxley,  the  sheriff's  fat  wife  ;  whether  for- 
tunately or  unfortunately  for  the  poor  sheriff,  who  had  some 
generous  touches  of  character  about  him,  it  so  happened 
that  at  this  period  of  our  narrative  she  popped  off  one  day, 
in  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  and  he  found  himself  a  widower.  Now, 
our  acquaintance,  Fergus  Reilly,  who  was  as  deeply  disugised 
as  our  hero,  had  made  his  mind  up,  if  possible,  to  bring  the 
Rapparee  into  trouble.  This  man  had  led  his  patron  to 
several  places  where  it  wras  likely  that  the  persecuted  priests 
might  be  found  ;  and,  for  this  reason,  Fergus  knew  that  he 
was  serious  in  his  object  to  betray  them.  This  unnatural 
treachery  of  the  robber  envenomed  his  heart  against  him, 
and  he  resolved  to  run  a  risk  in  watching  his  motions.  lie 
had  no  earthly  doubt  that  it  was  he  who  robbed  the  sheriff. 
He  knew,  from  furtive  observations,  as  well  as  from  general 
report,  that  a  discreditable  intimacy  existed  between  him 
and  Mary  Mahon.  This  woman's  little  house  was  very  con- 
venient to  that  of  Whitecraft,  to  whom  she  was  very  useful 
in  a  certain  capacity.  She  had  now  given  up  her  trade  of 
fortune-telling — a  trade  which,  at  that  period,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  ignorance  of  the  people,  wras  very  general  in 
Ireland.  She  was  now  more  beneficially  employed.  Fer- 
gus, therefore,  confident  in  his  disguise,  resolved  upon  a 
bold  and  hazardous  stroke.  He  began  to  apprehend  that 
if  ever  Tom  Steeple,  fool  though  he  was,  kept  too  much 
about  the  haunts  and  resorts  of  the  Rapparee,  that  cunning 
scoundrel,  who  was  an  adept  in  all  the  various  schemes  and 
forms  of  detection,  might  take  the  alarm,  and,  aided  prob- 
ably by  Whitecraft,  make  his  escape  out  of  the  country.  At 
best,  the  fool  could  only  assure  him  of  his  whereabouts  ; 
but  he  felt  it  necessary,  in  addition  to  this,  to  procure,  if 
the  matter  wrere  possible,  such  evidence  of  his  guilt  as  might 
render  his  conviction  of  the  robbery  of  the  sheriff  complete 
and  certain.  One  evening  a  wretched-looking  old  man,  re- 
peating his  prayers,  with  beads  in  hand,  entered  her  cottage, 
which  consisted  of  two  rooms  and  a  kitchen  ;  and  after  hav- 
ing presented  himself,  and  put  on  his  hat — for  we  need 
scarcely  say  that  no  Catholic  ever  prays  covered — he  asked 
lodging  in  Irish,  for  the  night,  and  at  this  time  it  was  dusk. 
"  Well,  good  man,"  she  replied,  "  you  can  have  lodgings 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  275 

here  for  this  night.     God  forbid  I'd  put  a  poor  wandherer 
out,  an'  it  nearly  dark." 

Fergus  stared  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  understand  what  she 
said  ;  she,  however,  could  speak  Irish  right  well,  and  asked 
him  in  that  language  if  he  could  speak  no  English — "  Wuil 
Bcarlha  agud?"  (Have  you  English  ?) 

"  Ha  ncil  foccal  vaun  Bearlha  again."  (I  haven't  one 
word  of  English.) 

'*  Well,"  said  she,  proceeding  with  the  following  short  con- 
versation in  Irish,  "  you  can  sleep  here,  and  I  will  bring  you 
in  awap  o'  straw  from  the  garden,  when  I  have  it  to  feed  my 
cow,  which  his  honor  Sir  Robert  gives  me  grass  for  ;  he 
would  be  a  very  kind  man  if  he  was  a  little  more  generous — 
ha  !  ha  !  ha !" 

"  Ay,  but  doesn't  he  hunt  an'  hang  an'  transport  our 
priests  ?" 

11  Why,  indeed,  I  believe  he  doesn't  like  a  bone  in  a 
priest's  body  ;  but  then  he's  of  a  different  religion — and  it 
isn't  for  you  or  me  to  construe  him  after  our  own  way." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Fergus,  "  it  isn't  him  I'm  thinking  of  ; 
but  if  I  had  a  mouthful  or  two  of  something  to  ait  I'd  go  to 
sleep — for  dear  knows  I'm  tired  and  hungry." 

"  Why,  then,  of  coorse  you'll  have  something  to  ait,  poor 
man,  and  while  you're  eatin'  it  I'll  fetch  in  a  good  bunch  of 
straw,  and  make  a  comfortable  shake-down  for  you." 

"  God  mark  you  to  grace,  avourneen  !" 

She  then  furnished  him  with  plenty  of  oaten  bread  and 
mixed  milk,  and  while  he  was  helping  himself  she  brought 
in  a  large  bunch  of  straw,  which  she  shook  out  and  settled 
for  him. 

"  I  see,"  said  she,  "  that  you  have  your  own  blankets." 

"  I  have,  acushla.  Cheerna,  but  this  is  darlin'  bread  ! 
Arra  was  this  baked  upon  a  griddle  or  against  the  muddhia 
arra si  ?'* 

"  A  griddle  !  Why,  then,  is  it  the  likes  o'  me  would 
have  a  griddle  ?  that  indeed  !  No  ;  but,  any  how,  sure  a 
griddle  only  scalds  the  bread  ;  but  you'll  find  that  this  is 

*  The  muddhia  artan  was  a  forked  branch,  cut  from  a  tree,  and 
shaped  exactly  like  a  letter  A — with  a  small  stick  behind  to  support  it. 
A  piece  of  hoop  iron  was  nailed  to  it  at  the  bottom,  on  which  the 
cake  rested — not  horizontally,  but  opposite  the  fire.  When  one  side 
was  done  the  other  was  turned,  and  thus  it  was  baked. 


276  WILLY  REILLY. 

not  too  much  done  ;  bekaise  you  know  the  ould  proverb,  '  a 
raw  dad  makes  a  fat  lad. '  ' ' 

11  Troth,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it's  good  bread,  and  fills  the 
boast*  of  a  man's  body  ;  but  now  that  I've  made  a  good 
supper,  I'll  throw  myself  on  the  straw,  for  I  feel  as  if  my 
eyelids  had  a  millstone  apiece  upon  them.  I  never  sthrip 
at  night,  but  just  throws  my  blanket  over  me,  an'  sleeps  like 
a  top.  Glory  be  to  God  !  Oh,  then,  there's  nothing  like 
the  health  ma'am  :  may  God  spare  it  to  us  !  Amin,  this 
night  !" 

He  accordingly  threw  himself  on  the  shake-down,  and  in 
a  short  time,  as  was  evident  by  his  snoring,  fell  into  a  pro- 
found sleep. 

This  was  an  experiuient,  though  a  hazardous  one,  as  we 
have  said  ;  but  so  far  it  was  successful.  In  the  course  of 
half  an  hour  the  Red  Rapparee  came  in,  dressed  in  his  uni- 
form.    On  looking  about  him  he  exclaimed,  with  an  oath, 

"Who  the  hell  is  here?" 

"Why,"  replied  Mary  Mahon,  "  a  poor  ould  man  that 
axed  for  charity  an'  lodgin'  for  the  night." 

"  And  why  did  you  give  it  to  him  ?" 

"  Bekaise  my  charity  to  him  may  take  away  some  of  my 
sins." 

"  Some  of  your  devils  !"  replied  the  savage,  "  and  I 
think  you  have  enough  of  them  about  you.  Didn't  you 
know  I  was  to  come  here  to-night,  as  I  do  almost  every 
night,  for  an  hour  or  two  ?" 

"  You  was  drinkin',"  she  replied,  "  and  you're  drunk." 

"  I  am  drunk,  and  I  will  be  drunk  as  often  as  I  can. 
It's  a  good  man's  case.  Why  did  you  give  a  lodgin'  to  this 
ould  vagabone  ?" 

"  I  tould  you  the  raison,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  you  needn't 
:are  about  him,  for  there's  not  a  word  of  English  in  his 
cheek." 

"  Faith,  but  he  may  have  something  in  his  purse,  for  all 
that.     Is  he  ould?" 

"  A  poor  ould  man." 

"  So  much  the  betther  ;  be  the  livin'  I'll  try  whether  he 

*  Boast — a  figurative  term,  Taken  from  a  braggadocio  or  boaster  ;  it 
applies  to  any  thing  that  is  hollow  or  deceitful  :  for  instance,  when 
some  potatoes  that  grow  unusually  large  are  cut  in  two,  an  empty 
space  is  found  in  the  centre,  and  that  potato  is  termed  boast,  or  empty. 


WILLY  REILLY.  277 

has  any  ould  coins  about  him.  Many  a  time — no,  I  don't 
say  ma7iy  a  time — but  twic't  I  did  it,  and  found  it  well  worth 
my  while,  too.  Some  of  these  ould  scamers  die  wid  a  purse 
o'  goolden  guineas  under  their  head,  and  won't  confess  it 
till  the  last  moment.  Who  knows  what  this  ould  lad  may 
have  about  him?  I'll  thry  anyhow,"  said  the  drunken 
ruffian  ;  "It's  not  aisy  to  give  up  an  ould  custom,  Molly — 
the  sheriff,  my  darlin',  for  that.  I  aised  him  of  his  fines, 
and  was  near  strikin'  a  double  blow — I  secured  his  pocket- 
book,  and  made  a  good  attempt  to  hang  Willy  Reilly  for  the 
robbery  into  the  bargain.  Now,  hang  it,  Molly,  didn't  I 
look  a  gentleman  in  his  clothes,  shoes,  silver  buckles,  and 
all  ;  wasn't  it  well  we  secured  them  before  the  house  was 
burned  ?  Here,"  he  added,  "  take  a  sneeshin  of  this,"  pull- 
ing at  the  same  time  a  pint  bottle  of  whiskey  out  of  his 
pocket  ;  "  it'll  rise  your  spirits,  an'  I'll  see  what  cash  this 
ould  codger  has  about  him  ;  an',  by  the  way,  how  the  devil 
do  we  know  that  he  doesn't  understand  every  word  we  say. 
Suppose,  now — (hiccup) — that  he  heard  me  say  I  robbed  the 
sheriff,  wouldn't  I  be  in  a  nice  pickle  ?  But,  tell  me,  can  you 
get  no  trace  of  Reilly  V 

11  Devil  a  trace  ;  they  say  he  has  left  the  country." 

"  If  I  had  what  that  scoundrel  has  promised  me  for  findin' 
him  out  or  securin'  him — here's — here's  to  you — I  say,  if  I 
had,  you  and  I  would" — Here  he  pointed  with  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder,  as  much  as  to  say  they  would  try  another 
climate. 

"  And  now,"  he  proceeded,  "  for  a  search  on  the  shake- 
down. Who  knows  but  the  ould  fellow  has  the  yellow  boys 
(guineas)  about  him?" — and  he  was  proceeding  to  search 
Fergus,  when  Mary  flew  at  him  like  a  tigress. 

"  Stop,  you  cowardly  robber  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  would 
you  bring  down  the  curse  and  the  vengeance  of  God  upon 
both  of  us.  We  have  enough  and  too  much  to  answer  for, 
let  alone  to  rob  the  ould  an/'  the  poor." 

"  Be  aisy  now,"  said  he,  "  I'll  make  the  search  ;  sure 
I'm  undher  the  scoundrel  Whitecraft's  protection." 

11  Yes,  you  are,  and  you're  undher  my  protection  too  ; 
and  I  tell  you,  if  you  lay  a  hand  upon  him  it'll  be  worse  for 
you." 

11  What — what  do  you  mane  ?" 

"  It's  no  matther  what  I  mane  :  find  it  out." 


278  WILLY  A  LILLY. 

"  How  do  I  know  but  he  has  heard  us  ?" 

We  must  now  observe  that  Fergus's  style  of  sleeping  was 
admirably  adapted  for  his  purpose.  It  was  not  accompanied 
by  a  loud  and  unbroken  snore  ;  on  the  contrary,  after  it 
had  risen  to  the  highest  and  most  disagreeable  intonations, 
it  stopped  short,  with  a  loud  and  indescribable  backsnort  in 
his  nose,  and  then,  after  a  lull  of  some  length,  during  which 
he  groaned  and  muttered  to  himself,  he  again  resumed  his 
sternutations  in  a  manner  so  natural  as  would  have  imposed 
upon  Satan  himself,  if  he  had  been  present,  as  there  is 
little  doubt  he  was,  though  not  exactly  visible  to  the  eyes  of 
his  two  precious  agents. 

11  Listen  to  that,"  replied  the  woman  ;  "  do  you  think, 
now,  he's  not.  asleep  ?  and  even  if  he  was  sitting  at  the  fire 
beside  us,  devil  a  syllable  we  said  he  could  understand.  I 
spoke  to  him  in  English  when  he  came  in,  but  he  didn't 
know  a  word  I  said." 

"  Well,  then,  let  the  ould  fellow  sleep  away  ;  I  won't 
touch  him." 

"  Why,  now,  that's  a  good  boy  ;  go  home  to  your  bar- 
racks, and  take  a  good  sleep  yourself." 

"  Ay,  yes,  certainly  ;  but  have  you  Reilly's  clothes  safe — 
shoes,  silver  buckles,  and  all  ?" 

"  Ay,  as  safe  as  the  head  on  your  shoulders  ;  and,  upon 
my  soul,  a  great  dale  safer,  if  you  rob  any  more  sheriffs." 

"  Where  are  they,  then  ?" 

"  Why,  they're  in  my  flat  box,  behind  the  bed,  where  no- 
body could  see  them." 

"  Very  well,  Molly,  that  will  do  ;  I  may  want  them  wanst 
more,"  he  replied,  pointing  again  with  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  towards  Whitecraft's  residence  ;  "  so  good-night  ; 
be  a  good  girl,  and  take  care  of  yourself." 

11  No,"  she  replied,  "  but  do  you  be  a  good  boy,  and  take 
care  of  yourself. ' '     And  so  they  parted  for  the  night. 

The  next  day  Fergus,  possessed  of  very  important  evi- 
dence against  the  Rapparee,  was  travelling  along  the  public 
road,  not  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the  residence  of  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft,  when  whom  should  he  meet  but  the  iden- 
tical sheriff,  on  horseback,  that  the  Rapparee  had  robbed. 
He  put  his  hand  to  his  hat,  and  asked  him  for  charity. 

"  Help  a  poor  ould  man,  for  the  love  and  honor  of 
God." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  279 

"  Why  don't  you  go  work — why  don't  you  go  work  ?"  re- 
plied the  sheriff. 

"lam  not  able,  sir,"  returned  Fergus  ;  "  it  wouldn't  be 
good  for  my  health,  your  honor." 

"  Well,  pass  on,  and  don't  trouble  me  ;  I  have  nothing 
for  you." 

"  Ah  !  thin,  sir,  if  you'd  give  me  a  trifle,  maybe  I'd  make 
it  worth  your  while. ' ' 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  sheriff,  who  knew  that 
persons  like  him  had  opportunities  of  hearing  and  knowing 
more  about  local  circumstances,  in  consequence  of  their 
vagrant  life,  than  any  other  class  of  persons  in  society. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  what  you  have  just  said  ?" 

"  Aren't  you  the  sheriff,  sir,  that  was  robbed  some  time 
ago  ?" 

"  I  am." 

11  Ah,  sir,  I  see  you  are  dressed  in  black  ;  and  I  heard  of 
the  death  of  the  misthress,  sir." 

"  Well,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  what  you  have  just 
now  said — that  you  would  make  it  worth  my  while  if  I  gave 
you  alms  ?" 

"  I  said  so,  sir  ;  and  I  can,  if  you  will  be  guided  by  me." 

"  Speak  out  ;  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  man  that  robbed  you,  sir,  and 
would  you  know  him  if  you  did  see  him  ?" 

"  Unquestionably  I  would  know  him.  They  say  it  was 
Reilly,  but  I  have  seen  Reilly  since  ;  and  although  the  dress 
was  the  same  which  Reilly  usually  wears,  yet  the  faces  were 
different." 

11  Is  your  honor  goin'  far  ?"  asked  Fergus. 

"  No,  I  am  going  over  to  that  farm-house,  Tom  Brady's  ; 
two  or  three  of  his  family  are  ill  of  fever,  and  I  wish  to  do 
something  for  him  ;  I  am  about  to  make  him  my  land 
bailiff." 

"  What  stay  will  you  make  there,  your  honor  ?" 

"A  very  short  one — not  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  min- 
utes." 

"  Would  it  be  inconvenient  for  your  honor  to  remain 
there,  or  somewhere  about  the  house,  for  an  hour,  or  may 
be  a  little  longer  ?" 

"  For  what  purpose  ?     You  are  a  mysterious  old  fellow." 

14  Bekaise,  if  you'd  wish  to  see  the  man  that  robbed  you, 


280  WILLY  REILLY. 

I'll  undhertake  to  show  him  to  you,  face  to  face,  within  that 
time.     Will  your  honor  promise  this  ?" 

The  sheriff  paused  upon  this  proposal,  coming  as  it  did 
from  such  an  equivocal  authority.  What,  thought  he,  if  it 
should  be  a  plot  for  my  life,  in  consequence  of  the  fines 
which  I  have  been  forced  to  levy  upon  the  Catholic  priests 
and  bishops  in  my  official  capacity.  God  knows  I  feel  it 
to  be  a  painful  duty. 

11  What  is  your  religion  ?"  he  asked,  "  and  why  should  a 
gentleman  in  my  condition  of  life  place  any  confidence  upon 
the  word  of  a  common  vagrant  like  you,  who  must  necessa- 
rily be  imbued  with  all  the  prejudices  of  your  creed — for  I 
suppose  you  are  a  Catholic  ?" 

"  I  am,  sir  ;  but,  for  all  that,  in  half  an  hour's  time  I'll 
be  a  rank  Protestant." 

The  sheriff  smiled  and  asked,  "  How  the  devil's  that  ?" 

"  You  are  dressed  in  black,  sir,  in  mumin'  for  your  wife. 
I  have  seen  you  go  into  Tom  Brady's  to  give  the  sick  crea- 
tures the  rites  of  their  Church.  I  give  notice  to  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  that  a  priest  is  there  ;  and  my  word  to  you,  he 
and  his  hounds  will  soon  be  upon  you.  The  man  that 
robbed  you  will  be  among  them — no,  but  the  foremost  of 
them  ;  and  if  you  don't  know  him,  I  can't  help  it — that's 
all,  your  honor." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  I  shall  give  you  nothing 
now  ;  because  I  know  not  whether  what  you  say  can  be  re- 
lied upon  or  not.  In  the  meantime,  I  shall  remain  an 
hour,  or  better,  in  Brady's  house  ;  and  if  your  words  are 
not  made  good,  I  shall  send  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  for  a 
military  party  to  escort  me  home." 

11  I  know,  your  honor,"  replied  Fergus,  "  that  Sir  Robert 
and  his  men  are  at  home  to-day  ;  and  if  1  don't  fulfil  my 
words,  I'll  give  your  honor  lave  to  whip  me  through  the 
county." 

"  Well,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  I  shall  remain  an  hour  or  so 
in  Brady's  ;  but  I  tell  you  that  if  you  are  deceiving  me  you 
shall  not  escape  me  ;  so  look  to  it,  and  think  if  what  you 
propose  to  me  is  honest  or  not — if  it  be  not,  woe  betide 
you." 

Fergus  immediately  repaired  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  to 
whom  he  represented  himself  as  a  poor  Protestant  of  the 
name  of  Bingham,  and  informed  him  that  a  Popish  priest 


WILLY  REILLY.  281 

was  then  in  Tom  Brady's  house,   administering  the  rites  of 
Popery  to  those  who  were  sick  in  the  family. 

"  I  seen  him,  your  honor,  go  into  the  house  ;  and  he's 
there  this  minute.  If  your  honor  makes  haste  you'll  catch 
him." 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Sir  Robert  and  his 
crew  were  in  stirrups,  and  on  their  way  to  Tom  Brady's  ; 
and  in  the  meantime,  too,  the  sheriff,  dressed  as  he  was,  in 
black,  came  outside  the  door,  from  time  to  time,  more  in 
apprehension  of  a  plot  against  his  life  than  of  a  visit  from 
Whitecraft,  which  he  knew  must  end  in  nothing.  Now, 
Whitecraft  and  his  followers,  on  approaching  Brady's  house, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  him — a  circumstance  which  not  only 
confirmed  the  baronet  in  the  correctness  of  the  information 
he  had  received,  but  also  satisfied  the  sheriff  that  the  men- 
dicant had  not  deceived  him.  Rapid  was  the  rush  they 
made  to  Brady'  house,  and  the  very  first  that  entered  it  was 
the  Red  Rapparee.  He  was  about  to  seize  the  sheriff, 
whom  he  pretended  not  to  know  ;  but  in  a  moment  Sir 
Robert  and  the  rest  entered,  when,  on  recognizing  each 
other,  an  explanation  took  place,  with  all  due  apologies  to 
the  functionary,  who  said  : 

"  The  mistake,  Sir  Robert,  is  very  natural.  I  certainly 
have  a  clerical  appearance,  as  I  am  in  mourning  for  my 
wife.     I  trust  you  will  neither  hang  nor  transport  me." 

"lam  very  sorry  indeed,  Mr.  Oxley  ;  but  I  only  acted 
on  information  received." 

"And  I  don't  doubt,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  the  sheriff, 
"  that  the  person  who  gave  you  the  information  may  have 
been  deceived  himself  by  my  ecclesiastical  looking  dress.  I 
am  sorry  you  have  had  so  much  trouble  for  nothing  ;  but, 
upon  my  word,  I  feel  extremely  delighted  that  I  am  not  a 
priest." 

In  the  meantime  the  sheriff  had  recognized  the  Rapparee, 
by  a  single  glance,  as  the  man  that  had  robbed  him.  He 
was  now  certain  ;  but  he  took  care  not  to  bestow  the  least 
sign  of  recognition  upon  him  ;  so  far  from  that,  he  appeared 
to  pay  no  attention  whatsoever  to  the  men  ;  but  chatted 
with  Sir  Robert  for  some  time,  who  returned  home  deeply 
disappointed,  though  without  imputing  blame  to  his  inform- 
ant, who,  he  thought,  was  very  naturally  misled  by  the  dress 
of  the  sheriff.     Fergus,  however,  apprehensive  of  being  in- 


2S2  WILLY  KELLLY. 

volved  in  the  prosecution  of  the  Rapparee,  and  thus  dis- 
covered, made  a  point  to  avoid  the  sheriff,  whose  cross-ex- 
amination a  consciousness  of  his  previous  life  led  him  to 
dread.  Still,  he  had,  to  a  certain  extent,  though  not  de- 
finitely, resolved  to  become  evidence  against  him  ;  but  only, 
as  we  have  said,  on  the  condition  of  previously  receiving  a 
full  pardon  for  his  own  misdeeds,  which  was  granted.  For 
upwards  of  a  month,  however,  the  sheriff  was  confined  to 
his  bed,  having  caught,  whilst  in  Brady's,  the  malignant 
fever  which  then  raged  throughout  the  country. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SOMETHING    NOT    VERY    PLEASANT    FOR    ALL    PARTIES. 

THE  position  of  England  at  this  period  was  any  thing 
but  an  easy  one.  The  Rebellion  of  '45  had  com- 
menced, and  the  young  Pretender  had  gained  some  signal 
victories.  Independently  of  this,  she  was  alarmed  by  the 
rumor  of  a  French  invasion  on  her  southern  coast.  Appre- 
hensive lest  the  Irish  Catholics,  galled  and  goaded  as  they 
were  by  the  influence  of  the  penal  laws,  and  the  dreadful 
persecution  which  they  caused  them  to  suffer,  should  flock 
to  the  standard  of  Prince  Charles,  himself  a  Catholic,  she 
deemed  it  expedient,  in  due  time,  to  relax  a  little,  and  ac- 
cordingly she  "  checked  her  hand,  and  changed  her  pride." 
Milder  measures  were  soon  resorted  to,  during  this  crisis,  in 
order  that  by  a  more  liberal  administration  of  justice  the 
resentment  of  the  suffering  Catholics  might  be  conciliated, 
and  their  loyalty  secured.  This,  however,  was  a  proceeding 
less  of  justice  than  expediency,  and  resulted  more  from  the 
actual  and  impending  difficulties  of  England  than  from  any 
sincere  wish  on  her  part  to  give  civil  and  religious  freedom 
to  her  Catholic  subjects,  or  prosperity  to  the  country  in 
which,  even  then,  their  numbers  largely  predominated. 
Yet,  singular  to  say,  when  the  Rebellion  first  broke  out,  all 
the  chapels  in  Dublin  were  closed,  and  the  Administration, 
as  if  guided  by  some  unintelligible  infatuation,  issued  a  pro- 
clamation, commanding  the  Catholic  priesthood  to  depart 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  283 

from  the  city.  Those  who  refused  this  senseless  and  im- 
politic edict  were  threatened  with  the  utmost  severity  of  the 
law.  Harsh  as  that  law  was,  the  Catholics  obeyed  it  ;  yet 
even  this  obedience  did  not  satisfy  the  Protestant  party,  or 
rather  that  portion  of  them  who  were  active  agents  in  carry- 
ing out  this  imprudent  and  unjustifiable  rigor  at  such  a  pe- 
riod. They  were  seized  by  a  kind  of  panic,  and  imagined 
forsooth  that  a  broken  down  and  disarmed  people  might  en- 
gage in  a  general  massacre  of  the  Irish  Protestants. 
Whether  this  incomprehensible  terror  was  real,  is  a  matter 
of  doubt  and  uncertainty  ;  or  whether  it  was  assumed  as  a 
justification  for  assailing  the  Catholics  in  a  general  massacre, 
similar  to  that  which  they  apprehended,  or  pretended  to  ap- 
prehend, is  also  a  matter  of  question  ;  yet  certain  it  is,  that 
a  proposal  to  massacre  them  in  cold  blood  was  made  in  the 
Privy  Council.  "  But,"  says  O'Connor,  "  the  humanity  of 
the  members  rejected  this  barbarous  proposal,  and  crushed 
in  its  infancy  a  conspiracy  hatched  in  Lurgan  to  extirpate 
the  Catholics  of  that  town  and  vicinity." 

In  the  meantime,  so  active  was  the  persecuting  spirit  of 
such  men  as  Whitecraft  and  Smell  priestthat  a  great  number 
of  the  unfortunate  priests  fled  to  the  metropolis,  where,  in  a 
large  and  populous  city,  they  had  a  better  chance  of  remain- 
ing incog-niti  than  when  living  in  the  country,  exposed  and 
likely  to  be  more  marked  by  spies  and  informers.  A  very 
dreadful  catastrophe  took  place  about  this  time.  A  congre- 
gation of  Catholic  people  had  heard  mass  upon  an  old  loft, 
which  had  for  many  years  been  decayed — in  fact,  actually 
rotten.  Mass  was  over,  and  the  priest  was  about  to  give 
them  the  parting  benediction,  when  the  floor  went  down 
with  a  terrific  crash.  The  result  was  dreadful.  The  priest 
and  a  great  many  of  the  congregation  were  killed  on  the 
spot,  and  a  vast  number  of  them  wounded  and  maimed  for 
life.  The  Protestant  inhabitants  of  Dublin  sympathized 
deeply  with  the  sufferers,  whom  they  relieved  and  succored  as 
far  as  in  them  lay,  and,  by  their  remonstrances,  Government 
was  shamed  into  a  more  human  administration  of  the  laws. 

In  order  to  satisfy  our  readers  that  we  have  not  overdrawn 
our  picture  of  what  the  Catholics  suffered  in  those  unhappy 
times,  we  shall  give  a  quotation  from  the  Messrs.  Chambers, 
of  Edinburgh,  themselves  fair  and  liberal  men,  and  as  im- 
partial as  they  are  able  and  well  informed  : 


2S4  WILLY  RF.ILLY. 

"  Since  the  pacification  of  Limerick,  Ireland  had  been 
ruled  exclusively  by  the  Protestant  party,  who,  under  the 
influence  of  feelings  arising  from  local  and  religious  antipa- 
thies, had  visited  the  Catholics  with  many  severities.  The 
oath  which  had  excluded  the  Catholics  from  office  had  been 
followed,  in  169S,  by  an  Act  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  com- 
manding all  Romish  priests  to  leave  the  kingdom,  under  the 
penalty  of  transportation,  a  return  from  which  was  to  be 
punishable  by  death.  Another  law  decreed  forfeiture  of 
property  and  civil  rights  to  all  who  should  send  their  chil- 
dren abroad  to  be  educated  in  the  Catholic  faith."  * 

Can  any  reasonable  person  be  in  doubt  for  a  moment 
that  those  laws  were  laws  of  extermination  ?  In  the  mean- 
time, let  us  hear  the  Messrs.  Chambers  further  : 

11  After  the  death  of  William,  who  was  much  opposed  to 
severities  on  account  of  religion,  Acts  of  still  greater  rigor 
were  passed  for  preventing  the  growth  of  Popery.  Any  child 
of  a  Roman  Catholic  who  should  declare  himself  a  Protest- 
ant was  entitled  to  become  the  heir  of  his  estate,  the  father 
merely  holding  it  for  his  lifetime,  and  having  no  command 
over  it.  Catholics  were  made  incapable  of  succeeding  to 
Protestants,  and  lands,  passing  over  them,  were  to  go  to 
the  next  Protestant  heir.  Catholic  parents  were  prevented 
from  being  guardians  to  their  own  children  ;  no  Protestant 
possessing  property  was  to  be  permitted  to  marry  a  Catholic  ; 
and  Catholics  were  rendered  incapable  of  purchasing  landed 
property,  or  enjoying  long  leases.  These  measures  naturally 
rendered  the  Catholics  discontented  subjects,  and  led  to 
much  turbulence.  The  common  people  of  that  persuasion, 
being  denied  all  access  to  justice,  took  it  into  their  own 
hands,  and  acquired  all  those  lawless  habits  for  which  they 
have  since  been  remarkable.  Treachery,  cruelty,  and  all 
the  lower  passions,  were  called  into  vigorous  exercise. 
Even  the  Protestants,  for  their  own  sakes,  were  often  obliged 
to  connive  at  the  evasion  of  laws  so  extremely  severe,  and 
which  introduced  much  difficulty  in  their  dealings  with  Cath- 
olics ;  but,  when  any  Protestant  wished  to  be  revenged 
upon  a  Catholic,  or  to  extort  money  from  him,  he  found  in 
these  laws  a  ready  instrument  for  his  purpose.     By  an  addi- 

*  "  History  and  Present  State  of  the  British  Empire."  Edinburgh, 
\V.  and  R.  Chambers. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  285 

tional  Act,  in  1726,  it  was  ordained  that  a  Roman  Catholic 
priest,  marrying  a  Protestant  to  a  Catholic,  should  suffer 
death  ;  and  in  order  that  legal  redress  might  be  still  less  ac- 
cessible to  the  Catholics,  it  was  enacted,  in  1728,  that  no  one 
should  be  entitled  to  practise  as  an  attorney  who  had  not 
been  two  years  a  Protestant." 

This  is  a  clear  and  succinct  epitome  of  the  penal  laws  ; 
true,  much  more  might  be  added  ;  but  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  those  who  sow  the  wind  will  reap  the  whirlwind.  It  is 
not  by  placing  restrictions  upon  creeds  or  ceremonies  that 
religion  can  ever  be  checked,  much  less  extinguished.  Like 
the  camomile  plant,  the  more  it  is  trampled  on  the  more  it 
will  spread  and  grow  ;  as  the  rude  winds  and  the  inclemency 
of  the  elements  only  harden  and  make  more  vigorous  the 
constitutions  of  those  who  are  exposed  to  them.  In  our 
state  of  the  world,  those  who  have  the  administration  of 
political  laws  in  their  hands,  if  they  ever  read  history,  or 
can  avail  themselves  of  the  experiences  of  ages,  ought  to 
know  that  it  is  not  by  severity  or  persecution  that  the  affec- 
tions of  their  fellow-subjects  can  be  conciliated.  We  our- 
selves once  knew  a  brutal  ruffian,  who  was  a  dealer  in  fruit 
in  the  little  town  of  Maynooth,  and  whose  principle  of  cor- 
recting his  children  was  to  continue  whipping  the  poor  things 
until  they  were  forced  to  laugh  !  A  person  was  one  day 
present  when  he  commenced  chastising  one  of  them — a  child 
of  about  seven — upon  this  barbarous  principle.  This  indi- 
vidual was  then  young  and  strong,  and  something  besides  of 
a  pugilist  ;  but  on  witnessing  the  effecting  efforts  of  the  little 
fellow  to  do  that  which  was  not  within  the  compass  of  any 
natural  effort,  he  deliberately  knocked  the  ruffian  down, 
after  having  first  remonstrated  with  him  to  no  purpose.  He 
arose,  however,  and  attacked  the  other,  but,  thanks  to  a 
good  arm  and  a  quick  eye,  he  prostrated  him  again,  and 
again,  and  again  ;  he  then  caught  him  by  the  throat,  for  he 
was  already  subdued,  and  squeezing  his  windpipe  to  some 
purpose,  the  fellow  said,  in  a  choking  voice,  "  Are  you  going 
to  kill  me  ?' ' 

11  No,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  only  want  to  see  the  length 
of  your  tongue  ;  don't  be  alarmed,  the  whole  thing  will  end 
merrily  ;  come,  now,  give  three  of  the  heartiest  laughs  you 
ever  gave  in  your  life,  or  down  goes  your  apple-cart — you 
know  what  that  means  ?" 


286  WILLY  R LILLY. 

"  I — I  c — a — n' — t,"  said  he. 

11  Yes,  you  can,"  replied  his  castigator  ;  "  nothing's  more 
easy  ;  come,  be  merry." 

The  caitiff,  for  he  was  a  coward,  and  wanted  bottom,  upon 
getting  a  little  wind,  whilst  the  other  held  him  by  the  throat, 
gave  three  of  the  most  ludicrous,  but  disastrous,  howls  that 
ever  were  witnessed.  On  his  opponent  letting  him  go,  he 
took  to  his  heels,  but  got  a  kick  on  going  out  that  was  rather 
calculated  to  accelerate  his  flight.  Legislators,  therefore, 
ought  to  know  that  no  political  whipping  will  ever  make  a 
people  laugh  at  the  pleasure  of  it. 

But  to  resume  our  narrative.  England,  now  apprehen- 
sive, as  we  have  said,  of  a  descent  of  the  French  upon  her 
southern  coast,  and  startled  by  the  successes  of  the  young 
Pretender,  who  had  cut  Cope's  army  to  pieces,  deemed  it 
expedient  to  send  over  the  celebrated  Earl  of  Chesterfield  as 
Viceroy,  with  instructions  to  relax  the  rigor  of  the  laws,  and 
conciliate  the  Catholics,  as  well  as  he  could,  so,  at  least,  as 
to  prevent  them  from  joining  the  Pretender,  whose  object  it 
was  understood  to  be  to  cross  the  frontier  and  march  upon 
London.  Lord  Chesterfield's  policy  afforded  great  gratifi- 
cation to  the  Catholics,  who  were  now  restored  to  their  usual 
privileges  ;  and  its  political  object  was  so  far  successful 
that,  as  we  have  said,  not  a  single  man  of  them  ever  joined 
the  Pretender.  Still,  the  liberal  Protestants,  or,  as  they 
were  termed,  ,the  patriotic  party,  were  not  satisfied  with  the 
mere  removal  of  the  Catholic  restrictions.  Ireland,  at  that 
time,  was  studded  with  men,  or  rather  with  monsters,  like 
Smellpriest  and  Whitecraft,  who  were  stained  with  the  blood 
of  their  fellow-subjects  and  fellow-Christians.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  especially,  was  now  in  a  bad  position,  although 
he  himself  was  ignorant  of  it.  The  French  Ambassador  de- 
manded satisfaction,  in  the  name  of  his  Court  and  the  French 
nation,  for  the  outrage  that  had  been  committed  upon  a 
French  subject,  and  by  which  international  law  was  so 
grossly  violated.  We  must  say  here  that  Whitecraft,  in  the 
abundance  of  his  loyalty  and  zeal,  was  in  the  habit,  in  his 
searches  after  priests,  and  suspected  lay  Catholics,  to  pay 
domiciliary  visits  to  the  houses  of  many  Protestant  magis- 
trates, clergymen,  and  even  gentlemen  of  wealth  and  distinc- 
tion, who  were  suspected,  from  their  known  enmity  to  per- 
secution,  of  harboring  Catholic  priests  and  others  of  that 


WILLY  REILLY.  287 

persuasion  ;  so  that,  in  point  of  fact,  he  had  created  more 
enemies  in  the  country  than  any  man  living.     The  Marquis 

of ,  Mr.  Hastings,    Mr.   Brown,   together  with  a  great 

number  of  the  patriotic  party,  had  already  transmitted  a 
petition  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  under  the  former  Adminis- 
tration ;  but  it  was  not  attended  to,  the  only  answer  they 
got  having  been  a  simple  acknowledgment  of  its  receipt. 
This,  on  coming  to  Sir  Robert's  ears,  which  it  did  from  one 
of  the  underlings  of  the  Castle,  only  gave  a  spur  to  his  inso- 
lence, and  still  more  fiercely  stimulated  his  persecuting 
spirit.  He  felt  conscious  that  Government  would  protect 
him,  or  rather  reward  him,  for  any  acts  of  violence  which 
he  might  commit  against  the  Catholic  party,  and  so  far, 
under  his  own  pet  Administration,  he  was  right. 

The  petition  we  have  alluded  to  having  been  treated  with 
studied  contempt,  the  persons  and  party  already  mentioned 
came  to  the  determination  of  transmitting  another,  still  more 
full  and  urgent,  to  the  new  Viceroy,  whose  feeling  it  was, 
for  the  reasons  we  have  stated,  to  reverse  the  policy  of  his 
predecessor. 

His  liberal  administration  encouraged  them,  therefore,  to 
send  him  a  clear  statement  of  the  barbarous  outrages  com- 
mitted by  such  men  as  Smellpriest  and  Sir  Robert  White - 
craft,  not  only  against  his  Majesty's  Roman  Catholic  sub- 
jects, but  against  many  loyal  Protestant  magistrates,  and 
other  Protestants  of  distinction  and  property,  merely  because 
they  were  supposed  to  entertain  a  natural  sympathy  for  their 
persecuted  fellow-subjects  and  fellow-countrymen.  They 
said  that  the  conduct  of  those  men  and  of  the  Government 
that  had  countenanced  and  encouraged  them  had  destroyed 
the  prosperity  of  the  country  by  interrupting  and  annulling 
all  bona  fide  commercial  transactions  between  Protestants 
and  Catholics.  That  those  men  had  not  only  transgressed  the 
instructions  they  received  from  his  predecessor,  but  all  those 
laws  that  go  to  the  security  of  life  and  property.  That  they 
were  guilty  of  several  cruel  and  atrocious  murders,  arsons, 
and  false  imprisonments,  for  which  they  were  never  brought 
to  account  ;  and  that,  in  fine,  they  were  steeped  in  crime 
and  blood,  because  they  knew  that  his  predecessor,  ignorant, 
perhaps,  of  the  extent  of  their  guilt,  threw  his  shield  over 
them,  and  held  them  irresponsible  to  the  laws  for  those  sav- 


2  83  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

They  then  stated  that,  in  their  humble  judgment,  a  mere 
relaxation  in  the  operation  of  the  severe  and  penal  laws 
against  Catholics  would  not  be  an  act  of  sufficient  atonement 
to  them  for  all  they  had  previously  suffered  ;  that  to  over- 
look, or  connive  at,  or  protect  those  great  criminals  would 
be  at  variance,  not  only  with  all  principles  of  justice,  but  with 
the  spirit  of  the  British  Constitution  itself,  which  never 
recognizes,  much  less  encourages,  a  wicked  and  deliberate 
violation  of  its  own  laws.  That  the  present  was  a  critical 
moment,  which  demanded  great  judgment  and  equal  human- 
ity in  the  administration  of  the  laws  in  Ireland.  A  rebellion 
was  successfully  progressing  in  Scotland,  and  it  appeared  to 
them  that  not  only  common  justice  but  sound  policy  ought 
to  prompt  the  Government  to  attract  and  conciliate  the 
Catholic  population  of  Ireland  by  allowing  them  to  partici- 
pate in  the  benefits  of  the  Constitution,  which  hitherto  ex- 
isted not  for  them,  thousands  of  whom,  finding  their  country 
but  a  bed  of  thorns,  might,  from  a  mere  sense  of  relief,  or, 
what  was  more  to  be  dreaded,  a  spirit  of  natural  vengeance, 
flock  to  the  standard  of  the  Pretender. 

His  excellency,  already  aware  of  the  startling  but  just  de- 
mand which  had  been  made  by  the  French  Ambassador,  for 
the  national  insult  by  Whitecraft  to  his  country,  was  himself 
startled  and  shocked  by  the  atrocities  of  those  blood-stained 
delinquents. 

His  reply,  however,  was  brief,  but  to  the  purpose. 

His  secretary  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  the  memorial, 
and  stated  that  the  object  of  his  Excellency  was  not  to  ad- 
minister the  laws  in  cruelty,  but  in  mercy  ;  that  he  consid- 
ered all  classes  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  equally  entitled  to 
their  protection  ;  and  that  with  respect  to  the  persons 
against  whom  such  serious  charges  and  allegations  had  been 
made,  he  had  only  to  say,  that  if  they  were  substantiated 
against  them  in  a  court  of  justice,  they  must  suffer  like  other 
criminals —  if  they  c  a  i  be  proved, Government  will  leave  them, 
as  it  would  any  common  felons,  to  the  laws  of  the  country. 
His  Excellency  is  determined  to  administer  those  laws  with 
the  strictest  impartiality,  and  without  leaning  to  any  particu- 
lar class  or  creed.  So  far  as  the  laws  will  allow  him,  their 
protection  shall  be  extended,  on  just  and  equal  principles 
to  the  poor  and  to  the  rich,  to  the  Catholic  and  to  the  Pro- 
testant. 


WILLY  REILLY.  2S9 

This  communication,  which  was  kept  strictly  secret, 
reached  the  Marquis  of at  a  critical  period  of  our  nar- 
rative. Whitecraft,  who  was  ignorant  of  it,  but  sufficiently 
aware  of  the  milder  measures  which  the  new  Administration 
had  adopted,  finding  that  the  trade  of  priest-hunting  and 
persecution  was,  for  the  present,  at  an  end,  resolved  to  ac- 
celerate his  marriage  with  Miss  Folliard,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose he  waited  upon  her  father,  in  order  to  secure  his  con- 
sent. His  object  was  to  retire  to  his  English  estates,  and 
there  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  with  his  beautiful  but  re- 
luctant bride.  He  paid  his  visit  about  two  o'clock,  and  was 
told  that  Miss  Folliard  and  her  father  were  in  the  garden. 
Hither  he  accordingly  repaired,  and  found  the  squire,  his 
daughter,  and  Reilly,  in  the  green-house.  When  the  squire 
saw  him  he  cried  out,  with  something  of  a  malicious  tri- 
umph : 

"  Hallo,  Sir  Robert  !  '  why  art  thou  so  pale,  young  lover? 
why  art  thou  so  pale  ? ' — and  why  does  thy  lip  hang,  Sir 
Robert  ? — new  men,  new  measures,  Sir  Robert — and  so, 
1  Othello's  occupation's  gone,'  and  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield 
goes  to  mass  every  Sunday,  and  is  now  able  to  repeat  his 
padareens  in  Irish." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  pleasant,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  but 
I'm  delighted  to  see  the  beautiful  state  of  your  green-house 
— oh,  Miss  Folliard  ! — excuse  me.  Your  back  was  to  me, 
and  you  were  engaged  in  trailing  that  beautiful  shrub  ;  allow 
me  the  honor  of  shaking  hands  with  you." 

11  Sir  Robert,  I  bid  you  good-day,  but  you  see  that  I  have 
my  garden  gloves  on  ;  you  will  excuse  me." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Folliard,"  he  replied,  "  your  will  is  the  spirit 
of  the  British  Constitution  to  me." 

"  A  spirit  which,  I  fear,  you  have  too  frequently  violated, 
Sir  Robert  ;  but,  as  papa  says,  I  believe  your  cruel  occupa- 
tion is  gone — at  least  I  hope  so." 

11  'Gad,  you  got  it  there,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  her  father, 
laughing. 

44  I  must  confess  it,"  replied  the  baronet  ;  "  but  I  think, 
in  order  to  ingratiate  myself  with  Miss  Folliard,  I  shall  take 
whatever  side  she  recommends  me.  How,  Mr.  Folliard," 
he  proceeded,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Reilly — 44  what  the  deuce 
is  this  ?     Have  you  got  Robinson  Crusoe  here  ?" 

44  We  have,"  replied  the  squire;  "but  his  man  Friday 


290  WILLY  K  LILLY. 

has  got  married  to  a  Tipperary  woman,  and  he's  now  in 
quest  of  a  desert  island  for  him  and  her  to  settle  in." 

11  I  think,  papa,"  said  Helen,  "  that  if  the  principles  of 
Sir  Robert  and  his  class  were  carried  out,  he  would  not  have 
far  to  go  to  look  for  one." 

"  Another  hit,  Bob,  you  dog — another  hit.  Well  said, 
Helen — well  said,  I  say.  Crusoe,  you  villain,  hold  up  your 
head,  and  thank  God  you're  christened." 

11  Wid  de  help  o'  Gad,  shir,  I  was  christhened  af whore, 
sure,  by  de  priesht. " 

This  visit  occurred  about  six  weeks  after  the  appointment 
of  the  new  Viceroy  to  the  Government  of  Ireland,  and  about 
five  after  the  sheriff's  illness. 

"  Come,  Whitecraft,"  said  the  squire,  "  come  and  let  us 
have  lunch  :  I'll  hold  a  crown  I  give  you  as  good  a  glass  of 
Burgundy  as  you  gave  me  the  other  day,  and  will  say  done 
first." 

"  Won't  Miss  Folliard  join  us  at  lunch  ?"  asked  White- 
craft,  looking  to  her  for  an  assent. 

"Why,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  her  father;  "  won't  you 
come,  Helen  ?" 

"  You  know,  papa,  I  never  lunch." 

11  'Gad,  and  neither  you  do,  Helen.  Come,  Sir  Robert, 
we  will  have  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and  something  good  to  wash 
it  down  ;  come  along,  man,  what  the  devil  are  you  scrutin- 
izing poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  for  ?  Come  along,  I  say, 
the  old  chap  is  making  the  green-house  thrive  ;  he  beats 
Malcomson.  Here,  Malcomson,  you  know  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Hout,  your  honor,  wha'  disna  ken  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft ?  Isn't  his  name  far  and  near,  as  a  braw  defender  o' 
the  faith,  and  a  putter  down  o'  Papistry  ?" 

"  By  the  way,  Malcomson,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  where  did 
you  get  Robinson  Crusoe,  by  which  I  mean  that  wild-look- 
ing man  in  the  green-house  ?" 

"  Saul,  sir,  it's  a  question  I  never  speered  at  him.  He 
cam'  here  as  a  gaberlunzie,  and  on  stating  that  he  was  in- 
doctrinated in  the  sceence  o'  buttany,  his  honor  garred  me 
employ  him.  De'il  hae't  but  the  truth  I'll  tell — he's  a 
clever  buttanist,  and  knows  a'  the  sceentific  names  aff 
hand." 

"So  that's  all  you  know  about  him?"  said  Sir  Robert. 


WILLY  REILLY.  291 

"  He  has  a  devil  of  a  beard,  and  is  shockingly  dressed. 
Why  doesn't  he  shave  ?" 

11  Ou,  just  some  Papistry  nonsense,"  replied  the  gardener  ; 
"  but  we  hae  naething  to  do  wi'  that,  sae  lang's  we  get  the 
worth  o'  our  siller  out  o'  him." 

"  Here's  a  shilling,  Malcomson,"  said  Sir  Robert. 

"  Na,  na,  your  honor  ;  a  shilling's  no  for  a  man  that  un- 
derstands the  sceence  o'  buttany  :  a  shilling's  for  a  flunky 
in  livery  ;  but  as  for  me,  I  couldna  conscientiously  conde- 
scend upon  less  than  ten  o'  them,  or  may  be  a  pund  British, 
but  I'm  feart  that's  contrair  to  your  honor's  habits." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  I  have  no  more  silver, 
and  so  I  leave  you  to  the  agreeable  society  of  Robinson 
Crusoe." 

Reilly  had  watched  Sir  Robert's  motions,  as  well  as  his 
countenance,  in  a  manner  as  furtively  as  possible.  Some- 
times, indeed,  he  stared  at  him  broadly,  and  with  a  stupid, 
oafish  look,  and  again  placed  himself  in  such  a  position  be- 
hind the  range  of  flower-pots  which  were  placed  upon  the 
ledges,  that  he  could  observe  him  without  being  perceived 
himself.  The  force  of  habit,  however,  is  extraordinary. 
Our  hero  was  a  man  exceedingly  remarkable  for  personal 
cleanliness,  and  consequently  made  a  point  to  wash  his 
hands  morning  and  evening  with  peculiar  care.  Be  this  as 
it  may,  the  lynx  eye  of  Sir  Robert  observed  their  whiteness, 
and  he  instantly  said  to  himself,  "  This  is  no  common  labor- 
er ;  I  know  that  he  is  not,  from  the  whiteness  of  his  hands. 
Besides,  he  is  disguised  ;  it  is  evident  from  the  length  of  his 
beard,  and  the  unnecessary  coarseness  of  his  apparel.  Then 
his  figure,  the  symmetry  and  size  of  which  no  disguise  can 
conceal  ;  this,  and  everything  else,  assures  me  that  he  is  dis- 
guised, and  that  he  is,  besides,  no  other  individual  than  the 
man  I  want,  William  Reilly,  who  has  been  hitherto  my  evil 
genius  ;  but  it  shall  go  hard  with  me,  or  I  shall  be  his  now." 
Such  were  his  meditations  as  he  passed  along  with  the  squire 
to  join  him  at  lunch. 

When  they  had  left  the  garden,  Reilly  addressed  his  Coo- 
lecn  Bawn  as  follows  : 

"  Helen,  I  am  discovered." 

11  Discovered  !  O  my  God,  no  !" 

"  Unquestionably,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it  ;  it  is  certain." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  certain  ?" 


2 92  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Because  I  observed  that  Whitecraft's  eyes  were  never 
off  my  hands  ;  he  knew  that  a  common  laborer  could  not 
possibly  have  such  hands.  Helen,  I  am  discovered,  and 
must  fly." 

"  But  you  know  that  there  is  a  change  of  Administration, 
and  that  the  severity  of  the  laws  has  been  relaxed  against 
Catholics." 

11  Yes,  you  told  me  so,  and  I  have  no  fear  for  myself  ;  but 
what  I  apprehend  is  that  this  discovery,  of  which  I  feel  cer- 
tain, will  precipitate  your  marriage  with  that  miscreant  ; 
they  will  entrap  you  into  it,  and  then  I  am  miserable  for 
ever." 

11  Then,  William,  we  must  fly  this  very  night  ;  we  will 
proceed  to  the  Continent,  to  some  Protestant  state,  where 
we  can  get  married  without  any  danger  to  the  clergyman 
who  may  unite  us." 

"  It  is  all  that  is  left  for  us,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "  I  should 
sooner  lose  life  than  you,  my  beloved  Helen  ;  and  now,  what 
is  to  be  done  ?  Fly  we  must  ;  and  in  anticipation  of  the 
necessity  of  this  step  I  left  a  suit  of  clothes  with  Lanigan  : 
or  rather  with  a  poor  widow,  who  was  a  pensioner  of  mine 
— a  Mrs.  Buckley,  from  whom  Lanigan  got  them,  and  has 
them.  I  could  not  think  of  accompanying  you  in  this  vile 
dress.  On  your  way  in,  try  to  see  Lanigan,  and  desire  him 
to  come  out  to  me.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost  ; 
and,  my  dear  Helen,  show  no  marks  of  agitation  ;  be  calm 
and  firm,  or  we  are  undone." 

"  Rely  on  me,  dear  Reilly,  rely  on  me  ;  I  shall  send 
Lanigan  to  you." 

She  left  him,  and  went  to  her  room,  when  she  rang  the 
bell,  and  her  maid,  the  faithful  Connor,  who  had  been  re- 
stored to  her  service,  came  to  her. 

"  Connor,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  not  be  able  to  dine  with 
papa  to-day,  especially  as  that  wretch  Whitecraft  is  likely  to 
dine  with  him.  Go  to  Lanigan,  and  tell  him  to  come  to 
me,  for  I  wish  to  know  if  he  has  any  thing  light  and  delicate 
that  he  could  send  to  my  own  room  ;  Connor,  I  am  very 
unhappy." 

"  But,  miss,  sure  they  say  that  the  laws  are  changed,  and 
that  Mr.  Reilly  may  go  at  large  if  he  wishes." 

"  I  know  that,  Connor  ;  but  send  Lanigan  to  me  immedi- 
ately." 


WILLY  REILLY,  293 

When  Lanigan  entered  he  found  the  Cooleen  Bawn  in 
tears. 

"  My  God,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  why  are  you  crying,  or  what  have  they  done  to 
you  ?" 

"Lanigan,"  she  replied,  wiping  her  eyes,  "you  and 
Connor  only  are  in  our  secret  ;  we  must  fly  this  night." 

"  This  night,  Miss  Folliard  !" 

"  This  night,  Lanigan  ;  and  you  must  assist  us." 

"  To  the  last  drop  of  my  blood,  I  will." 

"  Lanigan,  Reilly  is  discovered." 

"  Discovered,  miss  !  good  God,  how  was  he  discovered  ?" 

"  By  his  hands — by  the  whiteness  of  his  beautiful  hands. 
Now,  Lanigan,  Sir  Robert,  aware  that  he  cannot  act  the 
tyrant  at  present,  as  he  used  to  do,  will  instigate  my  father 
to  some  act  of  outrage  against  him  ;  for  you  know,  Lanigan, 
how  cowardly,  how  cruel,  how  vindictive,  the  detestable  vil- 
lain is  ;  and  most  assuredly  he  will  make  my  credulous  and 
generous,  but  hot-tempered,  father  the  instrument  of  his 
vengeance  upon  Reilly  ;  and,  besides,  he  will  certainly  urge 
him  to  bring  about  an  immediate  marriage  between  himself 
and  me,  to  which,  it  is  true,  I  would,  and  will  die,  sooner 
than  consent.  I  will  dine  here,  Lanigan,  for  I  cannot  bear 
to  look  upon  my  dear  father,  whom  I  am  about  to — " 
Here  her  tears  interrupted  her,  and  she  could  proceed  no 
farther  ;  at  length  she  recovered  herself,  and  resumed  :  "  I 
know,"  she  added,  "  that  Whitecraft  is  now  detailing  his 
discovery  and  his  plans.  Oh  !  that,  for  Reilly's  sake,  I 
could  become  acquainted  with  them  !" 

"  What  would  you  wish  for  dinner,  Miss  Folliard  ?"  asked 
Lanigan  clamly. 

"  For  dinner  ?  oh,  any  thing,  any  thing  ;  I  care  not  what  ; 
but  see  Reilly,  tell  him  I  have  a  second  key  for  the  back 
gate  in  the  garden,  and  also  for  the  front  ;  and,  Lani- 
gan—' ' 

"  Well,  Miss  Folliard  ;  but,  for  God's  sake,  don't  cry  so  ; 
your  eyes  will  get  red,  and  your  father  may  notice  it." 

"  True,  thank  you,  Lanigan  ;  and  Reilly,  besides,  told 
me  to  keep  myself  calm  ;  but  how  can  I,  Lanigan  ?  Oh, 
my  father  !  my  beloved  father  !  how  can  I  abandon — desert 
him  ?  No,  Lanigan,  I  will  not  go  ;  say  to  Reilly — say  I 
have  changed  my  mind  ;  tell   him  that  my  affection  for  my 


294  WILLY  REILLY. 

father  has  overcome  my  love  for  him  ;  say  I  will  never  marry 
— that  my  heart  is  his,  and  never  will  or  can  be  an- 
other's. But  then  again — he,  the  noble-minded,  the  brave, 
the  generous,  the  disinterested — alas  !  I  know  not  what  to 
do,  Lanigan,  nor  how  to  act.  If  I  remain  here,  they  will 
strive  to  force  this  odious  marriage  on  me  ;  and  then  some 
fearful  catastrophe  will  happen  ;  for,  sooner  than  marry 
Whitecraft,  I  would  stab  either  him  or  myself.  Either  that, 
Lanigan,  or  I  should  go  mad  ;  for  do  you  know,  Lanigan, 
that  there  is  insanity  in  our  family,  by  my  father's  side  ?" 

"  Unfortunately  I  know  it,  Miss  Folliard  ;  your  uncle 
died  in  a  mad-house,  and  it  was  in  that  way  the  estate  came 
to  your  father.  But  remember  what  you  say  Mr.  Reilly 
told  you  ;  be  calm  ;  I  will  send  up  some  light  nourishing 
dinner  to  you,  at  the  usual  hour  ;  and  in  the  meantime  I 
will  see  him  before  then,  and  forge  some  excuse  for  bringing 
it  up  myself." 

11  Stay,  Lanigan,  I  am  sadly  perplexed  ;  I  scarcely  know 
what  I  say  ;  I  am  in  a  state  of  inconceivable  distraction. 
Suppose  I  should  change  my  mind  ;  it  is  not  unlikely  ;  I  am 
whirled  about  by  a  crowd  of  contending  emotions  ;  but — well 
— let  me  see — oh,  yes — it  will  be  as  well,  Lanigan,  to  have  two 
horses  ready  saddled  ;  that  is  no  crime,  I  hope,  if  we  should 
go.     I  must,  of  course,  put  on  my  riding  habit." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  Miss  Folliard,  you'll  do  no  such 
thing  ;  would  you  wish  to  have  yourself  discovered  in  the 
first  inn  you  might  put  up  at  ?  No  :  dress  yourself  in  one 
of  Connor's  dresses  so  that  you  may  appear  as  humble  as 
possible,  and  any  thing  but  a  lady  of  rank  ;  otherwise,  it 
will  be  difficult  for  you  to  escape  observation." 

"  Well,  Lanigan,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  he  and  I  shall  place 
ourselves  under  your  advice  and  guidance.  But  my  father 
— oh,  my  dear  father  !"  And  again  she  wrung  her  hands 
and  wept  bitterly. 

!Miss  Helen,"  said  he,  "as  sure  as  the  Lord's  in 
heaven,  you  will  discover  yourself  ;  and,  after  all,  how  do 
you  know  that  Sir  Robert  has  found  out  Mr.  Reilly  ?  Sure 
it's  nothing  but  bare  suspicion  on  both  your  parts.  At  any 
rate,  I'll  saddle  Paudeen  O'Rafferty  wid  my  own  hands,  and 
I'll  put  on  Molly  Crudden's  big  pillion,  for  you  know  she's 
too  fat  to  walk  to  mass,  and  you  will  feel  yourself  quite 
easy  and  comfortable  in  it." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  295 

11  No,  no,  Lanigan  ;  I  know  not  why  the  impression  is 
on  me  ;  but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  never  to  experience  comfort 
more.  Go  to  Mr.  Reilly  ;  make  what  arrangements  he  and 
you  may  think  proper,  and  afterwards  you  can  acquaint  me 
with  them.  You  see,  Lanigan,  in  what  a  state  of  excite- 
ment and  uncertainty  I  am.  But  tell  Reilly  that,  rather 
than  be  forced  into  a  marriage  with  Whi tec  raft — rather  than 
go  distracted — rather  than  die — I  shall  fly  with  him." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

REILLY's  DISGUISE  PENETRATED — HE  ESCAPES — FERGUS 
REILLY  IS  ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  RAPPAREE SIR  ROB- 
ERT   BEGINS    TO    FEEL    CONFIDENT    OF    SUCCESS. 

LANIGAN,  on  passing  the  dining  parlor,  heard  what  he 
conceived  to  be  loud  and  angry  voices  inside  the 
room,  and  as  the  coast  was  clear  he  deliberately  put  his  ear 
to  the  key-hole,  which  ear  drank  in  the  following  conversa- 
tion :    - 

"I  say,  Sir  Robert,  I'll  shoot  the  villain.  Do  not  hold 
me.  My  pistols  are  unloaded  and  loaded  every  day  in  the 
year  ;  and  ever  since  I  transported  that  rebel  priest  I  never 
go  without  them.  But  are  you  sure,  Sir  Robert  ?  Is  it  not 
possible  you  may  be  mistaken  ?  I  know  you  are  a  suspicious 
fellow  ;  but  still,  as  I  said,  you  are,  for  that  very  reason, 
the  more  liable  to  be  wrong.  But,  if  it  is  he,  what's  to  be 
done,  unless  I  shoot  him  ?" 

"Under  the  last  Administration,  sir,  I  could  have  an- 
swered your  question  ;  but  you  know  that  if  you  shoot  him 
now  you  will  be  hanged.  All  that's  left  for  us  is  simply  to 
effect  this  marriage  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  the  documents 
are  all  ready,  and  in  the  course  of  to-morrow  the  license  can 
be  procured.  In  the  meantime,  you  must  dispatch  him  to- 
night." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sir  Robert  ?" 

11  I  say  you  must  send  him  about  his  business.  In 
point  of  fact,  I  think  the  fellow  knows  that  he  is  discovered, 


296  WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y. 

and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  he  may  make  an  effort  to  carry  off 
your  daughter  this  very  night." 

"  But,  Sir  Robert,  can  we  not  seize  him  and  surrender  him 
to  the  authorities  ?     Is  he  not  an  outlaw  ?" 

"  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Folliard,  he  is  not  an  outlaw  ;  I 
stretched  a  little  too  far  there.  It  is  true  I  got  his  name 
put  into  the  Ifue-and-Cry,  but  upon  representations  which  I 
cannot  prove." 

"  And  why  did  you  do  so,  Sir  Robert  ?" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  to  save  your  daughter." 

The  old  man  paused. 

"Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  is  a  bad  business — I  mean 
for  you,  Sir  Robert  ;  but  we  will  talk  it  over.  You  shall 
stop  and  dine  with  me  ;  I  want  some  one  to  talk  with — some 
one  who  will  support  me  and  keep  me  in  spirits  ;"  and  as 
he  spoke  he  sobbed  bitterly.  "I  wish  to  God,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  that  neither  I  nor  Helen — my  dear  Helen — had 
ever  seen  that  fellow's  face.     You  will  dine  with  me,  Bob  ?" 

11  I  will,  upon  the  strict  condition  that  you  keep  yourself 
quiet,  and  won't  seem  to  understand  any  thing." 

"  Would  you  recommend  me  to  lock  her  up  ?" 

"By  no  means  ;  that  would  only  make  matters  worse. 
I  shall  dine  with  you,  but  you  must  be  calm  and  quiet,  and 
not  seem  to  entertain  any  suspicions." 

"  Very  well,  I  shall  ;  but  what  has  become  of  our  lunch  ? 
Touch  the  bell." 

This  hint  sent  Lanigan  downstairs,  who  met  the  butler 
coming  up  with  it. 

"Why,  Pat,"  said  he,  "  what  kept  you  so  long  with  the 
lunch  ?" 

"  I  was  just  thinking,"  replied  Pat,  "how  it  would  be 
possible  to  poison  that  ugly,  ill-made,  long-legged  scoundrel, 
without  poisoning  my  master.  What's  to  be  done,  Lanigan  ? 
He  will  marry  this  darlin'  in  spite  of  us.  And  sure,  now  we 
have  our  privileges  once  more,  since  this  great  Earl  came 
to  rule  over  us  ;  and  sure,  they  say,  he's  a  greater  gentleman 
than  the  king  himself.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  if  this  same 
Sir  Robert  forces  the  Cooleen  Baw?i  to  such  an  unnatural 
marriage,  I'll  try  a  dose,  hit  or  miss,  for  a  cowheel  any  way. " 

Lanigan  laughed,  and  the  butler  passed  on  with  the  lunch. 

We  may  state  here  that  the  squire,  notwithstanding  his  out- 
spoken   manner    against    Popery,    like   a  terrible    ieverend 


WILLY  K LILLY.  297 

baronet  not  long  deceased,  who,  notwithstanding  his  dis- 
covery of  the  most  awful  Popish  plots,  and  notwithstanding 
the  most  extravagant  denunciations  against  Popery,  like 
him,  we  say,  the  old  squire  seldom  had  more  than  one  or 
two  Protestant  servants  under  his  roof.  Pat  hated  Long- 
shanks,  as  he  termed  him,  as  did  all  the  household,  which, 
indeed,  was  very  natural,  as  he  was  such  a  notorious  perse- 
cutor of  their  religion  and  their  clergy. 

Lanigan  lost  no  time  in  acquainting  Reilly  with  what  he 
had  heard,  and  the  heart  of  the  latter  palpitated  with  alarm 
on  hearing  that  the  next  day  but  one  was  likely  to  join  his 
Cooleen  Baivn,  by  violent  and  unnatural  proceedings,  to  the 
man  whom  she  so  much  detested.  He  felt  that  it  was  now 
time  to  act  in  order  to  save  her.  Arrangements  were  con- 
sequently made  between  them  as  to  the  time  and  manner  of 
their  escape,  and  those  arrangements,  together  with  the 
dialogue  he  had  overheard,  Lanigan  communicated  to  the 
Cooleen  Baw?i. 

The  squire  on  that  day  experienced  strange  alternations  of 
feeling.  His  spirits  seemed  to  rise  and  sink,  as  the  quick- 
silver in  the  glass  is  effected  by  the  state  of  the  atmosphere. 
He  looked  into  the  future  with  terror,  and  again  became, 
to  the  astonishment  of  his  guest — we  now  talk  of  their  con- 
duct after  dinner — actuated  by  some  thought  or  impulse 
that  put  him  into  high  spirits.  Whitecraft,  cool  and  cau- 
tious, resolved  to  let  him  have  his  way  ;  for  the  squire  was 
drinking  deeply,  and  the  Burgundy  was  good  and  strong. 

"  Bob,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  you  don't  drink,  and  that  is 
a  bad  sign.  You  have  either  a  bad  head  of  late,  or  a  bad 
heart,  which  is  worse.  Hang  you,  sir,  why  don't  you  drink  ? 
I  have  seen  you  lay  lots  of  my  guests  under  the  table  when 
you  were  quite  cool  ;  but  now,  what  are  you  at  ?  They 
can't  run  away  to-night.  Helen  doesn't  know  that  the  dis- 
covery has  been  made.  And  now,  Bob,  you  dog,  listen  to 
me,  I  say — would  you  have  had  the  manliness  and  courage 
to  expose  yourself  for  the  sake  of  a  pretty  girl  as  he  did  ? — 
that  is — here's  a  bumper  to  Helen  !  Curse  you,  will  noth- 
ing make  you  drink  ?  No,  faith,  he  hadn't  seen  Helen  at 
the  time  ;  it  was  for  a  worthless  old  fellow  like  me  that  he 
exposed  himself  ;  but  no  matter,  you  may  be  right  ;  perhaps 
it  was  a  plot  to  get  acquainted  with  her.  Still,  I'm  not 
sure  of  that  ;  but  if  it  was,  I'll  make  him  smart." 


29S  WILLY  RELLLY. 

After  dinner  the  squire  drank  deeply — so  deeply,  indeed, 
that  Whitecraft  was  obliged  to  call  up  some  of  the  male  ser- 
vants to  carry  him  to  his  chamber  and  put  him  to  bed.  In 
this  task  Lanigan  assisted,  and  thanked  his  stars  that  he  was 
incapacitated  from  watching  the  lovers,  or  taking  any  means 
to  prevent  their  escape.  As  for  Whitecraft,  thought  he,  I 
will  soon  send  him  about  his  business.  Now,  this  gentleman's 
suspicions  were  the  more  deeply  excited,  in  consequence  of 
Helen's  refusal  to  meet  him  at  either  lunch  or  dinner,  a  re- 
fusal which  she  gave  on  the  plea  of  indisposition.  He  had 
therefore  made  up  his  mind  to  watch  the  motions  of  Cooleen 
Baivn,  and  he  would  have  included  Reilly  in  his  surveillance 
were  it  not  that  Lanigan  informed  him  of  what  he  termed 
the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the  under-gardener. 

11  What  !"  exclaimed  Whitecraft,  "  is  he  gone  ?" 

"He  has  gone,  Sir  Robert,  and  left  his  week's  wages  be- 
hind him,  for  he  never  came  to  the  steward  to  ask  it.  And 
now,  Sir  Robert,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  not  sorry  he's 
gone  ;  he  was  a  disagreeable  old  fellow,  that  nobody  could 
make  either  head  or  tail  of  ;  but,  Sir  Robert,  listen — wait, 
sir,  till  I  shut  the  door — it  will  soon  be  gettin'  dusk  :  you 
know  you're  not  liked  in  the  country,  and  now  that  we — -I 
mean  the  Catholics — have  the  countenance  of  Government, 
I  think  that  riding  late  won't  be  for  your  health.  The  night 
air,  you  know,  isn't  wholesome  to  some  people.  I  am 
merely  givin'  you  a  hint,  Sir  Robert,  bekaise  you  are  a 
friend  of  my  masther's,  and  I  hope  for  your  own  sake  you'll 
take  it.  The  sooner  you  mount  your  horse  the  better  ; 
and  if  you  be  guided  by  me,  you'll  try  and  reach  your  own 
house  before  the  darkness  sets  in.  WTho  knows  what  Reilly 
may  be  plotting  ?  You  know  he  doesn't  like  a  bone  in  your 
honor's  skin  ;  and  the  Reillys  are  cruel  and  desperate." 

11  But,  Lanigan,  are  you  aware  of  any  plot  or  conspiracy 
that  has  been  got  up  against  my  life  ?" 

11  Not  at  all,  your  honor  ;  but  I  put  it  to  yourself,  sir, 
whether  you  don't  feel  that  I'm  speaking  truth." 

11  I  certainly  know  very  well,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that 
I  am  exceedingly  unpopular  with  the  Popish  party  ;  but,  in 
my  conduct  towards  them,  I  only  carried  out  the  laws  that 
had  been  passed  against  them." 

"  I  know  that,  Sir  Robert,  and,  as  a  Catholic,  I  am  sorry 
that  you  and  others  were  supported  and  egged  on  by  such 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  299 

laws.  Why,  sir,  a  hangman  could  give  the  same  excuse,  be- 
cause if  he  put  a  rope  about  your  neck,  and  tied  his  cursed 
knot  nately  under  your  left  ear,  what  was  he  doin'  but  ful- 
fillin'  the  law  as  you  did  ?  And  now,  Sir  Robert,  who  would 
shake  hands  with  a  hangman,  unless  some  unfortunate  high- 
way robber  or  murderer,  that  gives  him  his  hand  because  he 
knows  that  he  will  never  see  his  purty  face  agin.  This  dis- 
course is  all  folly,  however — you  haven't  a  minute  to  lose — 
shall  I  order  your  horse  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  had  better,  Lanigan,"  replied  the  other,  with 
a  dogged  appearance  of  cowardice  and  revenge.  He  could 
not  forgive  Lanigan  the  illustration  that  involved  the  com- 
parison of  the  hangman  ;  still  his  conscience  and  his  cow- 
ardice both  whispered  to  him  that  the  cook  was  in  the  right. 

This  night  was  an  eventful  one.  The  course  of  our  nar- 
rative brings  us  and  our  readers  to  the  house  of  Captain 
Smellpriest,  who  had  for  his  next-door  neighbor  the  stalwart 
curate  of  the  parish,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong,  to  whom 
some  allusion  has  been  already  made  in  these  pages.  Now 
the  difference  between  Smellpriest  and  Whitecraft  was  this 
— Smellpriest  was  not  a  magistrate,  as  Whitecraft  was,  and 
in  his  priest-hunting  expeditions  only  acted  upon  warrants 
issued  by  some  bigoted  and  persecuting  magistrate  or  other 
who  lived  in  the  district.  But  as  his  propensity  to  hunt 
those  untortunate  persons  was  known,  the  execution  of  the 
warrants  was  almost  in  every  instance  entrusted  to  his 
hands.  It  was  not  so  with  Sir  Robert,  who,  being  himself  a 
magistrate,  might  be  said  to  have  been  in  the  position  at 
once  of  judge  and  executioner.  At  all  events,  the  race  of 
blood  was  pretty  equal  between  them,  so  far  as  the  clergy 
was  concerned  ;  but  in  general  enmity  to  the  Catholic  com- 
munity at  large,  Whitecraft  was  far  more  cruel  and  compre- 
hensive in  his  vengeance.  It  is  indeed  an  observation 
founded  upon  truth  and  experience,  that  in  all  creeds,  in 
proportion  to  his  ignorance  and  bigotry,  so  is  the  violence 
of  the  persecutor.  Whitecraft,  the  self-constituted  cham- 
pion of  Protestantism,  had  about  as  much  religion  as  Satan 
himself — or  indeed  less,  for  we  are  told  that  he  believes 
and  trembles,  while  Whitecraft,  on  the  contrary,  neither  be- 
lieved nor  trembled.  But  if  he  did  not  fear  God,  he  cer- 
tainly feared  man,  and  on  the  night  in  question  went  home 
with  as  craven  a  heart — thanks  to  Lanigan — as  ever  beat  in 


300  WILLY  REILLY. 

a  coward's  bosom.  Smellpriest,  however,  differed  from 
Whitecraft  in  many  points  ;  he  was  brave,  though  cruel,  and 
addicted  to  deep  potations.  Whitecraft,  it  is  true,  drank 
more  deeply  still  than  he  did  ;  but,  by  some  idiosyncrasy  of 
stomach  or  constitution,  it  had  no  more  effect  upon  him 
than  it  had  upon  the  cask  from  which  it  had  been  drawn, 
unless,  indeed,  to  reduce  him  to  greater  sobriety  and  sharpen 
his  prejudices. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  Smellpriest' s  house  with  a  warrant,  or  some- 
thing in  the  shape  of  one,  which  he  placed  in  the  gallant 
captain's  hands,  who  was  drunk. 

"  What's  this,  oh,  Samson  the  Strong  ?"  said  Smellpriest, 
laughing  and  hiccuping  both  at  the  same  time. 

"  It's  a  hunt,  my  dear  friend.  One  of  those  priests  of  Baal 
has  united  in  unholy  bands  a  Protestant  subject  with  a  sub- 
ject of  the  harlot  of  abominations." 

"  Samson,  my  buck,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  I  hope  this 
Popish  priest  of  yours  will  not  turn  out  to  be  a  wild-goose. 
You  know  you  have  sent  me  upon  many  a  wild-goose  chase 
before  ;  in — in — in  fact,  you  nev — never  sent  me  upon  any 
other.  You're  a  blockhead,  oh,  divine  Samson  ;  and  that 
— that  thick  head  of  yours  would  flatten  a  cannon-ball.  But 
what  is  it  ? — an  intermarriage  between  the  two  P's — Popish 
and  Protestant  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  wife,  "  you  must  be  aware  that  the 
Popishers  have  only  got  liberty  to  clatter  their  beads  in  pub- 
lic ;  but  not  to  marry  a  Popisher  to  a  Protestanter.  This  is  a 
glorious  opportunity  for  you  to  come  home  with  a  feather  in 
vour  cap,  my  dear.  Has  he  far  to  go,  Mr.  Strong  ?  because 
he  never  goes  out  after  the  black  garne,  as  you  call  them,  sir, 
that  I  don't  feel  as  if  I — but  I  can't  express  what  I  feel  at 
his  dear  absence." 

Now  we  have  said  that  Smellpriest  was  drunk,  which,  in 
point  of  fact,  was  true  ;  but  not  so  drunk  but  that  he  ob- 
served some  intelligent  glances  pass  between  his  wife  and 
the  broad-shouldered  curate. 

11  No,  madam,  only  about  two  miles.  Smellpriest,  you 
know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe?" 

"  Yes — I  know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe,  in  Kilrudden." 

11  Well,  when  you  get  to  the  centre  of  the  stripe,  look  a 
little  to  your  right,  and — as  the  night  is  light  enough — you 


WILLY  REILLY.  301 

will  see  a  house — a  cottage,  rather  ;  to  this  cottage  bring 
your  men,  and  there  you  will  find  your  game.  I  would  not, 
captain,  under  other  circumstances,  advise  you  to  recruit 
your  spirits  with  an  additional  glass  or  two  of  liquor  ;  but, 
as  the  night  is  cold,  I  really  do  recommend  you  to  fortify 
yourself  with  a  little  refreshment." 

He  was  easily  induced  to  do  so,  and  he  accordingly  took 
a  couple  of  glasses  of  punch,  and  when  about  to  mount  his 
horse,  it  was  found  that  he  could  not  do  so  without  the  as- 
sistance of  his  men  who  were  on  duty,  in  all  about  six,  every 
one  of  whom,  as  well  as  the  captain  himself,  was  well  armed. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  state  to  the  reader  that  the  pursuit  was 
a  vain  one.  They  searched  the  house  to  no  purpose  ;  neither 
priest  or  friar  was  there,  and  he,  consequently,  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  performing  another  wild-goose  chase  with  his 
usual  success,  whenever  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  sent  him 
in  pursuit.  In  the  meantime  the  moon  went  down,  and  the 
night  became  exceedingly  dark  ;  but  the  captain's  spirits 
were  high  and  boisterous,  so  much  so  that  they  began  to  put 
themselves  forth  in  song,  the  song  in  question  being  the 
once  celebrated  satire  upon  James  the  Second  and  Tyrcon- 
nell,  called  "  Lillibullero,"  now  "  The  Protestant  Boys." 
How  this  song  gained  so  much  popularity  it  is  difficult  to 
guess,  for  we  are  bound  to  say  that  a  more  pointless  and 
stupid  production  never  came  from  the  brain  of  man.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  we  must  leave  the  gallant  captain  and  his 
gang  singing  it  in  full  chorus,  and  request  our  readers  to  ac- 
company us  to  another  locality. 

The  sheriff  had  now  recovered  from  a  dreadful  attack  of 
the  prevailing  epidemic,  and  was  able  to  resume  his  duties. 
In  the  meantime  he  had  heard  of  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  the  administration  of  affairs  at  headquarters 
— a  change  at  which  he  felt  no  regret,  but  rather  a  good 
deal  of  satisfaction,  as  it  relieved  him  from  the  performance 
of  very  disagreeable  and  invidious  duties,  and  the  execution 
of  many  severe  and  inhuman  laws.  He  was  now  looking 
over  and  signing  some  papers,  when  he  rang  the  bell,  and  a 
servant  entered. 

11  Tom,"  said  he,  "  there  is  an  old  man,  a  poor  mendi- 
cant, to  call  here,  who  was  once  a  servant  in  our  family  ; 
when  he  comes  show  him  into  the  office.  I  expect  some 
important  family  information  from  him  respecting  the  prop- 


302  WILLY  RELLLY. 

erty  which  we  are  disputing  about  in  the  Court  of  Chan- 
cery." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  servant,  "  I  shall  do  so." 

This  occurred  on  the  day  of  Whitecraft's  visit  to  Squire 
Folliard,  and  it  was  on  the  evening  of  the  same  that  Smell- 
priest  was  sent  upon  the  usual  chase,  on  the  information  of 
the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  ;  so  that  the  events  to  which  we 
have  alluded  occurred,  as  if  by  some  secret  relation  to  each 
other,  on  the  same  day. 

At  length  our  friend  Fergus  entered  the  office,  in  his  usual 
garb  of  an  aged  and  confirmed  mendicant. 

"Well,  Reilly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I  am  glad  you  have 
come.  I  could  have  taken  up  this  ruffian,  this  Red  Rap- 
paree,  as  he  is  properly  called,  upon  suspicion  ;  but  that 
would  have  occasioned  delay  ;  and  it  is  my  object  to  lodge 
him  in  jail  this  night,  so  as  to  give  him  no  chance  of  escape 
unless  he  breaks  prison  ;  but  in  order  to  prevent  that,  I  shall 
give  strict  injunctions,  in  consequence  of  the  danger  to  be 
apprehended  from  so  powerful  and  desperate  a  character, 
that  he  be  kept  in  strong  irons." 

"  If  it  be  within  the  strength  of  man,  sir,  to  break  prison, 
he  will  ;  he  done  it  twice  before  ;  and  he's  under  the  notion 
that  he  never  was  born  to  be  hanged  ;  some  of  the  ould 
prophecy  men,  and  Mary  Mahon,  it  seems,  tould  him  so." 

11  In  the  meantime,  Reilly,  we  shall  test  the  truth  of  such 
prophecies.  But  listen.  What  is  your  wish  that  I  should 
do  for  you,  in  addition  to  what  I  have  already  done.  You 
know  what  I  have  promised  you,  and  that  for  some  time 
past,  and  that  1  have  the  Secretary's  letter  stating  that  you 
are  free,  and  have  to  dread  neither  arrest  nor  punishment  ; 
but  that  is  upon  the  condition  that  you  shall  give  all  the 
evidence  against  this  man  that  you  are  possessed  of.  In 
that  case  the  Government  will  also  bountifully  reward  you 
besides." 

"  The  Government  need  not  think  of  any  such  thing, 
your  honor,"  replied  Reilly  ;  "a  penny  of  Government 
money  will  never  cross  my  pocket.  It  isn't  for  any  reward 
I  come  against  this  man,  but  because  he  joined  the  blood- 
hounds of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  against  his  own  priests  and 
his  own  religion  ;  or  at  laste  against  the  religion  he  pro- 
fessed, for  I  don't  think  he  ever  had  any." 

11  Well,  then,  I  can  make  you  one  of  my  officers." 


WILLY  RELLLY.  303 

"  Is  it  to  go  among  the  poor  and  distressed,  sir,  and  help, 
maybe,  to  take  the  bed  from  undher  the  sick  father  or  the 
sick  mother,  and  to  leave  them  without  a  stick  undher  the 
ould  roof  or  naked  walls  ?  No,  sir  ;  sooner  than  do  that  I'd 
take  to  the  highway  once  more,  and  rob  like  a  man  in  the  face 
of  danger.  That  I  may  never  see  to-morrow,"  he  pro- 
ceeded, with  vehemence,  "  but  I'd  rather  rob  ten  rich  men 
than  harish  one  poor  family.  It  was  that  work  that  druv 
me  to  the  coorse  I  left — that  an'  the  persecution  that  was 
upon  us.  Take  my  word,  sir,  that  in  nineteen  cases  out  of 
twenty  it  was  the  laws  themselves,  and  the  poverty  they 
brought  upon  the  country,  that  made  the  robbers." 

11  But  could  you  not  give  evidence  against  some  others  of 
the  gang  ?" 

11  No,  sir  ;  there  is  not  one  of  them  in  this  part  of  the 
kingdom,  and  I  believe  the  most  of  them  all  are  out  of  it  al- 
together. But,  even  if  they  were  not,  I,  sir,  am  not  the 
man  to  betray  them  ;  the  Red  Rapparee  would,  if  he  could 
get  at  them  ;  but,  thank  God,  I've  put  every  man  of  them 
beyond  his  reach." 

11  You  did  !  and  pray,  now,  why,  may  I  ask,  did  that  hap- 
pen ?" 

"  Bekaise  it  came  to  my  ears  that  it  was  his  intention  to 
inform  against  them,  and  to  surrender  them  all  to  the  Gov- 
ernment. ' ' 

"  Well,  Reilly,  after  all,  I  believe  you  to  be  an  honest  fel- 
low, even  although  you  were  once  a  robber  ;  but  the  ques- 
tion now  is,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Are  you  sure  of  his  where- 
abouts ?" 

1 '  I  think  so,  sir  ;  or,  if  I  am  not,  I  know  one  that  is. 
But  I  have  an  observation  to  make.  You  know,  sir,  I  would 
a'  gone  abroad,  a  free  man  before  this  time,  only  that  it's 
necessary  I  should  still  keep  on  my  disguise,  in  ordher  that 
I  may  move  about  as  I  wish  until  I  secure  this  Red  Rap- 
paree. After  that,  sir,  please  God,  I'll  taste  a  mouthful  of 
freedom.  In  the  meantime  I  know  one,  as  I  said,  that  will 
enable  us  to  make  sure  of  him." 

11  Pray,  who  is  that  ?" 

11  Tom  Steeple,  sir." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  poor  fool  of  that  name — or  rather,  I 
believe,  of  that  nickname  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir  ;  and  in  many  things  he's  less  of  a  fool  than 


304  WILLY  REILLY. 

wiser  men.  lie  has  been  dodgin'  him  for  the  last  two  or 
three  days  ;  and  he  s  a  person  that  no  one  would  ever  sus- 
pect, unless,  indeed,  the  cautious  and  practised  Rapparees  ; 
but  in  ordher  to  meet  any  such  suspicion,  I  have  got  upon 
the  right  trail  myself — we're  sure  of  him  now,  I  think." 

"  Well,  Reilly,"  proceeded  the  sheriff,  "  I  leave  the  man- 
agement of  the  capture  of  this  man  to  yourself.  You  shall 
have  a  strong  and  determined  party  to  support  you.  Do 
you  only  show  them  the  man,  and,  take  my  word  for  it, 
they  will  secure  the  robber.  After  this  affair  is  over  you 
must  throw  off  those  rags.  I  will  furnish  you  with  decent 
clothes,  and  you  can  go  out  at  large  without  fear  or  risk, 
and  that  under  your  own  name  too.  I  took  your  hint,  and 
declined  swearing  the  informations  against  him  before  the 
old  squire,  as  I  had  intended,  from  an  apprehension  that  he 
might  possibly  blab  the  fact  to  Whitecraft,  who,  if  your  in- 
formation be  correct,  would  have  given  him  notice  to  fly, 
or  otherwise  concealed  him  from  justice." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  "  it's  my  opinion  that  the  Rap- 
paree'will  lodge  in  Sligo  jail  before  to-morrow  mornin'; 
and  it's  a  thousand  pities  that  Whitecraft  shouldn't  be  sent 
there  to  keep  him  company." 

11  He  certainly  is  the  most  unpopular  man  living.  In  the 
exuberance  of  his  loyalty  he  has  contrived  to  offend  almost 
every  liberal  Protestant  in  the  county,  and  that  with  an  un- 
justifiable degree  of  wanton  and  overbearing  insolence,  arising 
from  his  consciousness  of  impunity.  However,  thank  God, 
his  day  is  gone  by.  But,  mark  me,  Reilly — I  had  almost 
forgotten — don't  neglect  to  secure  the  clothes  in  which  the 
villain  robbed  me  ;  they  will  be  important." 

11  I  had  no  intention  of  forgetting  them,  sir  ;  and  that 
scheme  for  throwing  the  guilt  of  his  own  villany  on  Mr. 
Reilly  is  another  reason  why  I  appear  against  him." 

It  was  not,  indeed,  very  easy  for  the  Rapparee  to  escape. 
Whitecraft  got  home  safe,  a  little  before  dusk,  after  putting 
his  unfortunate  horse  to  more  than  his  natural  speed.  On 
his  arrival  he  ordered  wine  to  be  brought,  and  sat  down  to 
meditate  upon  the  most  feasible  plan  for  reinstating  himself 
in  the  good  graces  of  the  new  Government.  After  ponder- 
ing over  many  speculations  to  that  effect,  it  occurred  to  him 
that  to  secure  the  Rapparee,  now  that  he  could,  as  an  agent 
and  a  guide,  be  of  no  further  use  to  him,  was  the  most  likely 


WILLY  REILLY.  305 

procedure  to  effect  his  purpose.  He  accordingly  rang  for 
his  usual  attendant,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  O'Don- 
nel  was.  The  man  replied  that  he  was  generally  in  or  about 
Mary  Mahon's. 

11  Then,"  proceeded  his  master,  "  let  him  be  with  me  to- 
morrow morning  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"  If  I  see  him,  sir,  I  shall  tell  him." 

"  And  say  that  I  have  something  to  his  advantage  to  men- 
tion to  him." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  shan't  forget  it." 

"  Now,"  said  he,  after  the  servant  had  withdrawn,  and 
taking  a  bumper  of  wine,  "  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  feel 
very  uncomfortable  somehow.  I  certainly  did  not  expect,  a 
change  in  the  Administration,  nor  a  relaxation  in  the  carry- 
ing out  of  the  laws  against  Papists  ;  and,  under  this  impres- 
sion, I  fear  I  have  gone  too  far,  and  that  I  may  be  brought 
over  the  coals  for  my  conduct.  I  understand  that  the  old 
French  Abbe  is  returned,  and  once  more  a  resident  in  the 
family  of  that  cursed  marquis.  I  think,  by  the  way,  I 
should  go  and  apologize  to  both  the  marquis  and  the  Abbe, 
and  throw  the  blame  of  my  own  violence  upon  the  conduct 
and  instructions  of  the  last  Government  ;  that,  and  the  giv- 
ing up  of  this  ruffianly  Rapparee  to  the  present,  may  do 
something  for  me.  This  country,  however,  now  that  mat- 
ters have  taken  such  an  unexpected  turn,  shall  not  long  be 
my  place  of  residence.  As  for  Reilly,  my  marriage  on  the 
day  after  to-morrow  with  that  stubborn  beauty,  Helen  Fol- 
liard,  will  place  an  impassable  barrier  between  him  and  her. 
I  am  glad  he  has  escaped,  for  he  will  not  be  in  our  way, 
and  we  shall  start  for  my  English  estates  immediately  after 
the  ceremony.  To-morrow,  however,  I  shall  secure  the 
Rapparee,  and  hand  him  over  to  the  authorities.  I  could 
have  wished  to  hang  Reilly,  but  now  it  is  impossible  ;  still, 
we  shall  start  for  England  immediately  after  the  nuptial  knot 
is  tied,  for  I  don't  think  I  could  consider  myself  safe,  now 
that  he  is  at  large,  and  at  liberty  to  appear  in  his  proper 
name  and  person,  especially  after  all  the  mischief  I  have 
done  him,  in  addition  to  the  fact  of  my  bearing  away  his 
Cooleen  Bawn,  as  she  is  called." 

In  fact,  the  man's  mind  was  a  turbid  chaos  of  reflections 
upon  the  past  and  the  future,  in  which  selfishness,  disap- 
pointed   vengeance,    terror,    hypocritical  policy,  and  every 


306  WILLY   REILLY. 

feeling  that  could  fill  the  imagination  of  a  man  possessed  of 
a  vacillating,  cowardly,  and  cruel  heart,  with  the  exception 
only  of  any  thing  that  could  border  upon  penitence  or  re- 
morse. That  Miss  Folliard  was  not  indifferent  to  him  is 
true  ;  but  the  feeling  which  he  experienced  towards  her 
contained  only  two  elements — sensuality  and  avarice.  Of 
love,  in  its  purest,  highest,  and  holiest  sense,  he  was  utterly 
incapable  ;  and  he  was  not  ignorant  himself  that,  in  the 
foul  attachment  which  he  bore  her,  he  was  only  carrying 
into  effect  the  principles  of  his  previous  life — those  of  a  pri- 
vate debauche  and  a  miser.  That  amiable,  but  unhappy 
and  distracted,  lady  spent  that  whole  evening  in  making 
preparations  for  her  flight  with  Reilly.  Her  manner  was 
wild  and  excited  ;  indeed,  so  much  so  that  the  presence  of 
mind  and  cool  good  sense,  for  which  her  maid  Connor  was 
remarkable,  were  scarcely  sufficient  to  guide  and  direct  her 
in  this  distressing  emergency.  She  seemed  to  be  absorbed 
by  but  one  thought,  and  that  was  of  her  father.  His  affec- 
tion for  her  enlarged  and  expanded  itself  in  her  loving  heart, 
with  a  force  and  tenderness  that  nearly  drove  her  into  de- 
lirium. Connor,  in  the  meantime,  got  all  things  ready,  she 
herself  having  entrusted  the  management  of  every  thing  to 
her.  The  unhappy  girl  paced  to  and  fro  her  room,  sobbing 
and  weeping  bitterly,  wringing  her  hands,  and  exclaiming 
from  time  to  time  : 

' '  Oh,  my  father  !  my  dear  and  loving  father  !  is  this  the 
return  I  am  making  you  for  your  tenderness  and  affection  ? 
what  I  am  about  to  do  ?  what  steps  am  I  going  to  take  ?  to 
leave  you  desolate,  with  no  heart  for  yours  to  repose  upon  ! 
Alas  !  there  was  but  one  heart  that  you  cared  for,  and  in 
the  duty  and  affection  of  that  all  your  hopes  for  my  happi- 
ness lay  ;  and  now,  when  you  awake,  you  will  find  that  that 
heart,  the  very  heart  on  which  you  rested,  has  deserted  you  ! 
When  you  come  down  to  breakfast  in  the  morning,  and  find 
that  your  own  Helen,  your  only  one,  has  gone — oh  !  who 
will  sustain,  or  soothe,  or  calm  you  in  the  frenzied  grief  of 
your  desolation  ?  But  alas  !  what  can  I  do  but  escape  from 
that  cowardly  and  vindictive  villain — the  very  incarnation  of 
oppression  and  persecution  ;  the  hypocrite,  the  secret  de- 
bauche, the  mean,  the  dastardly,  whose  inhuman  ambition 
was  based  upon  and  nurtured  by  blood  ?  Alas  !  I  have  but 
the  one  remedy — flight  with  my  noble-minded  lover,  whom 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  307 

that  dastardly  villain  would  have  hunted,  even  to  his  mur- 
der, or  an  ignominious  death,  which  would  have  been 
worse.  This  flight  is  not  spontaneously  mine  ;  I  am  forced 
to  it,  and  of  two  evils  I  will  choose  the  least  ;  surely  I  am 
not  bound  to  seal  my  own  misery  forever." 

Connor  had  by  this  time  attempted,  as  far  as  she  could, 
to  disguise  her  in  one  of  her  own  dresses  ;  but  nothing  could 
conceal  the  elegance  and  exquisite  proportion  of  her  figure,nor 
the  ladylike  harmony  and  grace  of  her  motions.  She  then  went 
to  the  oaken  cabinet,  mentioned  by  her  father  in  the  open- 
ing of  our  narrative,  and  as  she  always  had  the  key  of  that 
portion  of  it  which  contained  her  own  diamonds,  and  other 
property,  she  took  a  casket  of  jewels  of  immense  value  from 
it,  and  returned  to  her  room,  where  she  found  Connor  be- 
fore her. 

"  Mr.  Reilly  is  ready,  miss,"  she  said,  "  and  is  waiting 
for  you  behind  the  garden  ;  the  only  one  I  dread  in  the 
house  is  Andy  Cummiskey  ;  he  is  so  much  attached  to  the 
master  that  I  think  if  he  knew  you  were  about  to  escape 
he  would  tell  him." 

"Well,  Connor,  we  must  only  avoid  him  as  well  as  we 
can  ;  but  where,  or  how,  shall  I  carry  these  jewels  ?  In  these 
slight  pockets  of  yours,  Connor,  they  could  not  be  safe." 

"  Well,  then,  can't  you  give  them  to  him  to  keep,  and 
they'll  be  safe  ?" 

"  True,  Connor,  so  they  will  ;  but  I  give  him  a  heart 
which  he  prizes  above  them  all.  But,  alas  !  my  father  !  oh  ! 
how,  Connor,  shall  I  abandon  him  V 

**  Do  not  distress  yourself,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard  ;  your 
father  loves  you  too  much  to  hold  out  his  anger  against  you 
long.  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  if  Reilly  was  a  Protestant 
your  father  said  he  would  rather  marry  you  to  him  than  to 
Sir  Robert,  the  villain,  with  all  his  wealth  ?" 

"  I  did,  Connor,  and  my  father  certainly  said  so  ;  but  the 
serpent,  Connor,  entwined  himself  about  the  poor  credulous 
man,  and  succeeded  in  embittering  him  against  Reilly,  who 
would  rather  go  to  the  scaffold — yes,  and — which  he  would 
consider  a  greater  sacrifice — rather  abandon  even  me  than 
his  religion.  And  do  you  think,  Connor,  that  T  do  not 
love  my  noble-minded  Reilly  the  more  deeply  for  this  ?  I 
tell  you,  Connor,  that  if  he  renounced  his  religion  upon  no 
other  principle  than  his  love  for  me,  I  should  despise  him  as 


30S  WILLY  REILLY. 

a  dishonorable  man,  to  whom  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me 
to  entrust  my  happiness." 

11  Well,  well  ;  but  now  it  is  time  to  start,  and  Reilly,  as  I 
said,  is  waiting  for  you  behind  the  garden." 

"  Oh,  Connor,  and  is  it  come  to  this  ?  my  dear  papa  ! 
but  I  cannot  go  until  I  see  him  ;  no,  Connor,  I  could  not  ; 
I  shall  go  quietly  into  his  room,  and  take  one  look  at  him  ; 
probably  it  may  be  the  last.  Oh,  my  God  !  what  am  I 
about  to  do  !  Connor,  keep  this  casket  until  I  return  ;  I 
shall  not  be  long." 

She  then  went  to  his  chamber.  The  blinds  and  curtains  of 
the  windows  had  not  been  drawn,  and  it  occurred  to  her 
that  as  her  dress  was  so  different  from  any  which  her  father 
had  ever  seen  on  her,  some  suspicion  might  be  created 
should  he  observe  it.  She  therefore  left  the  candlestick 
which  she  had  brought  with  her  on  the  inside  sill  of  a  lobby 
window,  having  observed  at  the  door  that  the  moonlight 
streamed  in  through  the  windows  upon  his  bed.  Judge  of 
her  consternation,  however,  when,  on  entering  the  room, 
her  father,  turning  himself  in  the  bed,  asked, 

"  Is  that  Helen  ?" 

11  It  is,  papa  ;  I  thought  you  had  been  asleep,  and  I  came 
up  to  steal  my  good-night  kiss  without  any  intention  of 
awakening  you." 

"  I  drank  too  much,  Helen,  with  Whitecraft,  whom  wine 
— my  Burgundy — instead  of  warming,  seems  to  turn  into  an 
icicle.  However,  he  is  a  devilish  shrewd  fellow.  Helen, 
darling,  there's  a  jug  of  water  on  the  table  there  ;  will  you 
hand  it  to  me  ;  I'm  all  in  a  flame  and  a  fever." 

She  did  so,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  much  that  she  was 
near  spilling  it.  He  took  a  long  draught,  after  which  he 
smacked  his  lips,  and  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely. 

"  Helen,"  said  he. 

11  Well,  dear  papa." 

"  Helen,  I  had  something  to  mention  to  you,  but — " 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself  to-night,  papa  ;  you  are  some- 
what feverish,"  she  added,  feeling  his  pulse  ;  "  if  you  will 
excuse  me,  papa,  I  think  you  drank  too  much  ;  your  pulse  is 
very  quick  ;  if  you  could  fall  into  rest  again  it  would  be 
better  for  you." 

11  Yes,  it  would  ;  but  my  mind  is  uneasy  and  sorrowful. 
Helen,  I  thought  you  loved  me,  my  darling." 


WILLY  RELLLY.  309 

"  Oh,  could  you  doubt  it,  papa  ?  You  see  I  am  come  as 
usual — no,  not  as  usual,  either — to  kiss  you  ;  I  will  place 
my  cheek  against  yours,  as  I  used  to  do,  dear  papa,  and  you 
will  allow  me  to  weep — to  weep — and  to  say  that  never 
father  deserved  the  love  of  a  daughter  as  you  have  deserved 
mine  ;  and  never  did  daughter  love  an  affectionate  and  in- 
dulgent father  more  tenderly  than  your  Cooleen  Bawn  does 
you." 

"  I  know  it,  Helen,  I  know  it  ;  your  whole  life  has  been 
a  proof  of  it,  and  will  be  a  proof  of  it  ;  I  know  you  have 
no  other  object  in  this  world  than  to  make  papa  happy  ;  I 
know  I  feel  that  you  are  great-minded  enough  to  sacrifice 
everything  to  that." 

"  Well,  but,  papa,"  she  continued,  "  for  all  my  former 
offences  against  you  will  you  pity  and  forgive  me  ?" 

"  I  do  both,  you  foolish  darling;  but  what  makes  you 
speak  so  ?" 

"  Because  I  feel  melancholy  to-night,  papa  ;  and  now, 
papa,  if  ever  I  should  do  any  thing  wrong,  won't  you  pity 
and  forgive  your  own  Cooleen  Bawn  .?" 

11  Get  along,  you  gipsy — don't  be  crying.  What  could 
you  do  that  papa  wouldn't  forgive  you,  unless  to  run  away 
with  Reilly  ?  Don't  you  know  that  you  can  wind  me  round 
your  finger  ?" 

11  Farewell,  papa,"  she  said,  weeping  all  the  time,  for,  in 
truth,  she  found  it  impossible  to  control  herself  ;  "  farewell 
— good-night  !  and  remember  that  you  may  have  a  great 
deal  to  forgive  your  own  Cooleen  Bawn  some  of  these  days." 

On  leaving  the  bedroom,  where  she  was  hurried  by  her 
feelings  into  this  indiscreet  dialogue,  she  found  herself 
nearly  incapable  of  walking  without  support.  The  contend- 
ing affections  for  her  father  and  her  lover  had  nearly  over- 
come her.  By  the  aid  of  the  staircase  she  got  to  her  own 
room,  where  she  was  met  by  Connor,  into  whose  arms  she 
fell  almost  helpless. 

"  Ah,  Connor,"  she  said,  alluding  to  her  father,  whom 
she  could  not  trust  herself  to  name,  "  to-morrow  morning 
what  will  become  of  him  when  he  finds  that  I  am.  gone? 
But  I  know  his  affectionate  heart.  He  will  relent — he  will 
relent  for  the  sake  of  his  own  Cooleen  Bawn.  The  laws 
against  Catholics  are  now  relaxed,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
But  I  have  one   consolation,  my  dear  girl,  that   I  am  trust- 


310  WILLY  REILLY. 

ing  myself  to  a  man  of  honor.  We  will  proceed  directly  to 
the  Continent — that  is,  if  no  calamitous  occurrence  should 
take  place  to  prevent  us  ;  and  there,  after  our  nuptials  shall 
have  been  duly  celebrated,  I  will  live  happy  with  Reilly — 
that  is,  Connor,  as  happy  as  absence  from  my  dear  father 
will  permit  me — and  Reilly  will  live  happy,  and,  at  least, 
free  from  the  persecution  of  bad  laws,  and  such  villains  as 
base  and  vindictive  Whitecraft.  You,  Connor,  must  ac- 
company me  to  the  back  of  the  garden,  and  see  me  off. 
Take  this  purse,  Connor,  as  some  compensation  for  your 
truth  and  the  loss  of  your  situation." 

It  was  now,  when  the  moment  of  separation  approached, 
that  Connor's  tears  began  to  flow,  far  less  at  the  generosity 
of  her  mistress  than  her  affection,  and  that  which  she  looked 
upon  as  probably  their  final  separation. 

"  Dear  Connor,"  said  her  mistress,  "  I  would  expect  that 
support  to  my  breaking  heart  which  I  have  hitherto  expe- 
rienced from  you.  Be  firm  now,  for  you  see  /  am  not 
firm,  and  your  tears  only  render  me  less  adequate  to  en- 
counter the  unknown  vicissitudes  which  lie  before  me." 

11  Well,  then,  I  will  be  firm,  my  dear  mistress  ;  and  I  tell 
you  that  if  there  is  a  God  in  heaven  that  rewards  virtue  and 
goodness  like  yours,  you  will  be  happy  yet.  Come,  now,  he 
is  waiting  for  you,  and  the  less  time  we  lose  the  better. 
We  shall  go  out  by  the  back  way — it  is  the  safest." 

They  accordingly  did  so,  and  had  nearly  reached  the  back 
wall  of  the  garden  when  they  met  Malcomson  and  Cummis- 
key,  on  their  way  into  the  kitchen,  in  order  to  have  a  mug 
of  strong  ale  together.  The  two  men,  on  seeing  the  females 
approach,  withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  a  clump  of  trees,  but 
not  until  they  were  known  by  Connor. 

11  Come,  my  dear  mistress,"  she  whispered,  "  there  is  not 
one  second  of  time  to  be  lost.  Cummiskey,  who  is  a  Cath- 
olic, might  overlook  our  being  here  at  this  hour  ;  because, 
although  he  is  rather  in  the  light  of  a  friend  than  a  servant 
to  your  father,  still  he  is  a  friend  to  Reilly  as  well  ;  but  as 
for  that  ugly  Scotchman,  that  is  nothing  but  bone  and  skin, 
I  would  place  no  dependence  whatever  upon  him." 

We  will  not  describe  the  meeting  between  Reilly  and  the 
Cooleen  Bawn.  They  had  no  time  to  lose  in  the  tender  ex- 
pressions of  their  feelings.  Each  shook  hands  with,  and  bid 
farewell  to,  poor  affectionate  Connor,  who  was  now  drowned 


WILLY  K LILLY.  311 

in  tears  ;  and  thus  they  set  off,  with  a  view  of  leaving  the 
kingdom,  and  getting  themselves  legally  married  in  Hol- 
land, where  they  intended  to  reside. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    RAPPAREE    SECURED — REILLY    AND    THE    COOLEEN 
PAWN    ESCAPE,    AND    ARE    CAPTURED. 

CUMMISKEY  had  a  private  and  comfortable  room  of 
his  own,  to  which  he  and  the  cannie  Scotchman  pro- 
ceeded, after  having  ordered  from  the  butler  a  tankard  of 
strong  ale.  There  was  a  cheerful  fire  in  the  grate,  and 
when  the  tankard  and  glasses  were  placed  upon  the  table 
the  Scotchman  observed  : 

"  De'il  be  frae  my  saul,  maisther  Cummiskey,  but  ye're 
vara  comfortable  here. ' ' 

"  Why,  in  troth,  I  can't  complain,  Mr.  Malcomson  ; 
here's  your  health,  sir,  and  after  that  we  must  drink  an- 
other." 

"  Mony  thanks,  Andrew." 

"Hang  it,  I'm  not  Andrew  ;  that  sounds  like  Scotch; 
I'm  Andy,  man  alive." 

11  Weel,  mony  thanks,  Andy  ;  but  for  the  maitter  o'  that, 
what  the  de'il  waur  wad  it  be  gin  it  were  Scotch  ?" 

11  Bekaise  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  considered  a  Scotchman, 
somehow." 

"Weel,  Andrew — Andy — I  do  just  suppose  as  muckle  ; 
gin  ye  war  considered  Scotch,  muckle  more  might  be  ex- 
pecket  frae  you  than,  being  an  Irisher  as  you  are,  you  could 
be  prepared  to  answer  to  ;  whereas — " 

11  Why,  hang  it,  man  alive,  we  can  give  three  answers  for 
your  one." 

"  Weel,  but  how  is  that  now,  Andy  ?  Here's  to  ye  in  the 
meantime  ;  and  'am  no  sayin'  but  this  yill  is  just  richt  gude 
drink  ;  it  warms  the  pit  o'  the  stamach,  man." 

"  You  mane  by  that  the  pit  o'  the  stomach,  I  suppose." 

"  Ay,  just  that." 

11  Troth,  Mr.  Malcomson,  you  Scotchers  bring  every  thing 


312  WILLY  REILLY. 

to  the  pit  o'  the  stomach — no,  begad,  I  ax  your  pardon,  for 
although  you  take  care  of  the  pratie  bag,  you  don't  forget 
the  pocket." 

"And  what  for  no,  Andy?  why  the  de'il  war  pockets 
made,  gin  they  warna  to  be  filled  ?  but  how  hae  ye  Irishers 
three  answers  for  our  ane  ?" 

11  Why,  first  with  our  tongue  ;  and  even  with  that  we 
bate  ye — flog  you  hollow.  You  Scotchmen  take  so  much 
time  in  givin'  an  answer  that  an  Irishman  could  say  his  pat- 
therin  aves  before  you  spake.  You  think  first  and  spake 
aftherwards,  and  come  out  in  sich  a  way  that  one  would  sup- 
pose you  say  grace  for  every  word  you^  spake  ;  but  it  isn't 
'  for  what  we  are  to  receive  '  you  ought  to  say  '  may  the 
Lord  make  us  thankful,'  but  for  what  we  are  to  lose — that 
is,  your  Scotch  nonsense  ;  and,  in  troth,  we  ought  to  be 
thankful  for  losin'  it." 

11  Weel,  man,  here's  to  ye,  Andy — ou,  man,  but  this  yill 
is  extraordinar'  gude." 

11  Why,"  replied  Andy,  who,  by  the  way,  seldom  went 
sober  to  bed,  and  who  was  even  now  nearly  three  sheets  in 
the  wind,  "  it  is,  Mr.  Malcomson,  the  right  stuff.  But,  as 
I  was  sayin',  you  Scotchmen  think  first  and  spake  afther — 
one  of  the  most  unlucky  practices  that  ever  anybody  had. 
Now,  don't  you  see  the  advantage  that  the  Irishman  has 
over  you  ;  he  spakes  first  and  thinks  aftherwards,  and  then, 
you  know,  it  gives  him  plenty  of  time  to  think — here's  God 
bless  us  all,  anyhow — but  that's  the  way  an  Irishman  bates 
a  Scotchman  in  givin'  an  answer  ;  for  if  he  fails  by  word  o' 
mouth,  why,  whatever  he's  deficient  in  he  makes  up  by  the 
fist  or  cudgel  ;  and  there's  our  three  Irish  answers  for  one 
Scotch." 

11  Weel,  man,  a'  richt — a'  richt — we  winna  quarrel  aboot 
it  ;  but  I  thocht  ye  promised  to  gie  us  another  toast — de'il 
be  frae  my  saul,  man,  but  I'll  drink  as  mony  as  you  like  wi- 
siccan  liquor  as  this." 

"  Ay,  troth,  I  did  say  so,  and  devil  a  thing  but  your 
Scotch  nonsense  put  it  out  o'  my  head.  And  now,  Mr. 
Malcomson,  let  me  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  never  to  attempt 
to  have  the  whole  conversation  to  yourself  ;  it  isn't  daicent. ' ' 

"  Weel,  but  the  toast,  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  ay  ;  troth,  your  nonsense  would  put  any  thing  out 
of  a  man's  head.     Well,  you  see  this  comfortable  room  ?" 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  3' 3 

"  Ou,  ay  ;  an  vara  comfortable  it  is  ;  ma  faith,  I  wuss  I 
had  ane  like  it.  The  auld  squire,  however,  talks  o'  buildin' 
a  new  gerden-hoose." 

"Well,  then,  fill  your  bumper.  Here's  to  her  that  got 
me  this  room,  and  had  it  furnished  as  you  see,  in  order  that 
I  might  be  at  my  aise  in  it  for  the  remaindher  o'  my  life — 
(I  mane  the  Cooleen  Bawn — the  Lily  of  the  Plains  of  Boyle. 
Come,  now,  off  with  it  ;  and  if  you  take  it  from  your  lan- 
thern  jaws  till  it's  finished,  divil  a  wet  lip  ever  I'll  give  you." 

The  Scotchman  was  not  indisposed  to  honor  the  toast  ; 
first,  because  the  ale  was  both  strong  and  mellow,  and 
secondly,  because  the  Cooleen  Bawn  was  a  great  favorite  of 
his,  in  consequence  of  the  deference  she  paid  to  him  as  a 
botanist. 

"  Eh,  sirs,"  he  exclaimed,  after  finishing  his  bumper, 
"  but  she's  a  bonnie  lassie  that,  and  as  gude  as  she's  bonnie 
— and  ;de'il  a  higher  compliment  she  could  get,  I  think. 
But,  Andy,  man,  don't  they  talk  some  clash  and  havers 
anent  her  predilection  for  that  weel-farrant  callan,  Reilly  V' 

"Ah,  my  poor  girl,"  replied  Cummiskey,  shaking  his 
head  sorrowfully  ;  "  I  pity  her  there  ;  but  the  thing's  im- 
possible— they  can't  be  married — the  law  is  against  them." 

"  Weel,  Andy,  they  must  e'en  thole  it  ;  but  'am  thinkin' 
they'll  just  break  bounds  at  last,  an'  tak'  the  law,  as  you 
Irish  do,  into  their  ain  hands." 

' '  What  do  you  mane  by  that  ?' '  asked  Andy,  whose  temper 
began  to  get  warm  by  the  observation. 

"Eh,  man,"  replied  the  Scotchman,  "  dinna  let  your 
birses  rise  at  that  gate.  Noo,  there's  the  filbert  trees,  ma 
friend,  of  whilk  ane  is  male  and  the  tither  female  ;  and  the 
upshot  e'en  is,  Andy,  that  de'il  a  pickle  o'  fruit  ever  the 
female  produces  until  there's  a  braw  halesome  male  tree 
planted  in  the  same  gerden.  But,  ou,  man,  Andy,  wasna 
yon  she  and  that  bonnie  jaud,  Connor,  that  we  met  the 
noo  ?  De'il  be  frae  my  saul,  but  I  jalouse  she's  aff  wi'  him 
this  vara  nicht." 

"Oh,  dear,  no  !"  replied  Cummiskey,  starting;  ''that 
would  kill  her  father  ;  and  yet  there  must  be  something  in  it, 
or  what  would  bring  them  there  at  such  an  hour  ?  He  and 
she  may  love  one  another  as  much  as  they  like,  but  /  must 
think  of  my  masther. " 

"  In  that  case,  then,  our  best  plan  is  to  gie  the  alarm." 


314  WILLY  RELL.LY. 

"  Hould,"  replied  Andy;  "let  us  be  cautious.  They 
wouldn't  go  on  foot,  I  think  ;  and  before  we  rise  a  ruction 
in  the  house,  let  us  find  out  whether  she  has  made  off  or 
not.     Sit  you  here,  and  I'll  try  to  see  Connor,  her  maid." 

"Ah,  but,  Andy,  man,  it's  no  just  that  pleasant  to  sit 
here  dry-lipped  ;  the  tankard's  oot,  ye  ken." 

"  Divil  tankard  the  Scotch  sowl  o'  you — who  do  you  sup- 
pose could  think  of  a  tankard,  or  any  thing  else,  if  what  we 
suspect  has  happened  ?     It  will  kill  him." 

He  then  proceeded  to  look  for  Connor,  whom  he  met  in 
tears,  which  she  was  utterly  unable  to  conceal. 

"Well,  Miss  Connor,"  he  aked,  "what's  the  matther  ? 
You're  cryin',  I  persave. " 

"  Ah,  Cummiskey,  my  mistress  is  unwell." 

"  Unwell  !  why  she  wasn't  unwell  a  while  ago,  when  the 
gardener  and  I  met  her  and  you  on  your  way  to  the  back  o' 
the  garden." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Connor  ;  "  I  forced  her  to  come  out, 
to  try  what  a  little  cool  air  might  do  for  her." 

"  Ay,  but,  Connor,  did  you  force  her  to  come  in  again  ?" 

"  Force  !  there  was  no  force  necessary,  Cummiskey. 
She's  now  in  her  own  room,  quite  ill." 

"  Oh,  then,  if  she's  quite  ill,  it's  right  that  her  father 
should  know  it,  in  ordher  that  a  docther  may  be  sent  for." 

"  Ah,  but  she's  now  asleep,  Cummiskey — that  sleep  may 
set  her  to  rights  ;  she  may  waken  quite  recovered  ;  but  you 
know  it  might  be  dangerous  to  disturb  her." 

"  Ay,  I  believe  you,"  he  replied,  dissembling  ;  for  he 
saw  at  once,  by  Connor's  agitated  manner,  that  every  word 
she  uttered  was  a  lie  ;  "  the  sleep  will  be  good  for  her,  the 
darlin' ;  but  take  care  of  her,  Connor,  for  the  masther's  sake  ; 
for  what  would  become  of  him  if  any  thing  happened  her  ? 
You  know  that  if  she  died  he  wouldn't  live  a  week." 

"  That's  true,  indeed,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  if  she  get's 
worse,  Cummiskey,  I'll  let  the  master  know." 

"  That's  a  good  girl  ;  via  gragal  that  you  war — good-by, 
acushla,"  and  he  immediately  returned  to  his  own  room,  af- 
ter having  observed  that  Connor  went  down  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  there  is  a  good  fire 
before  you.  I  ax  your  pardon — 'just  sit  in  the  light  of  it  for 
a  minute  or  so  ;  I  want  this  candle." 

'Am  sayin',  Andy,  gin  ye  haud  awa  to   the  kitchen,  it 


WILLY  R LILLY.  315 

wadna  be  a  crime  to  send  up  anither  tankard  o'  that 
yill." 

To  this  the  other  made  no  reply,  but  walked  out  of  the 
room,  and  very  deliberately  proceeded  to  that  of  Helen.  The 
door  was  open,  the  bed  unslept  upon,  the  window-curtains 
undrawn  ;  in  fact,  the  room  was  tenantless,  Connor  a  liar 
and  an  accomplice,  and  the  suspicions  of  himself  and  Mal- 
comson  well  founded.  He  then  followed  Connor  to  the 
kitchen  ;  but  she  too  had  disappeared,  or  at  least  hid  her- 
self from  him.  He  then  desired  the  other  female  servants 
to  ascertain  whether  Miss  Folliard  was  within  or  not,  giving 
it  as  his  opinion  that  she  had  eloped  with  Willy  Reilly. 
The  uproar  then  commenced,  the  house  was  searched,  but 
no  Coolec?i  Baivn  was  found.  Cummiskey  himself  remained 
comparatively  tranquil,  but  his  tranquillity  was  neither 
more  nor  less  than  an  inexpressible  sorrow  for  what  he  knew 
the  affectionate  old  man  must  suffer  for  the  idol  of  his  heart, 
upon  whom  he  doted  with  such  unexampled  tenderness  and 
affection.  On  ascertaining  that  she  was  not  in  the  house, 
he  went  upstairs  to  his  master's  bedroom,  having  the  can- 
dlestick in  his  hand,  and  tapped  at  the  door.  There  was 
no  reply  from  within,  and  on  his  entering  he  found  the  old 
man  asleep.  The  case,  however,  was  one  that  admitted  of 
no  delay  ;  but  he  felt  that  to  communicate  the  melancholy 
tidings  was  a  fearful  task,  and  he  scarcely  knew  in  what 
words  to  shape  the  event  which  had  occurred.  At  length 
he  stirred  him  gently,  and  the  old  man,  half  asleep,  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Good-night,  Helen — good-night,  darling  !  I  am  not 
well  ;  I  had  something  to  tell  you  about  the  discovery  of — 
but  I  will  let  you  know  it  to-morrow  at  breakfast.  For  your 
sake  I  shall  let  him  escape  :  there  now,  go  to  bed,  my  love." 

"  Sir,"  said  Cummiskey,  "  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  for 
disturbing  you." 

"What?  who?  who's  there?  I  thought  it  was  my 
daughter." 

"  No,  sir,  I  wish  it  was  ;  I'm  come  to  tell  you  that  Miss 
Folliard  can't  be  found  :  we  have  searched  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  house  to  no  purpose  :  wherever  she  is,  she's 
not  undher  this  roof.  I  came  to  tell  you  so,  and  to  bid  you 
get  up,  that  we  may  see  what's  to  be  done." 

"  What,"   he   exclaimed,    starting  up,  "  my  child  ! — my 


3'6  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

child — my  child  gone  !  God  of  heaven  !  God  of  heaven, 
support  me  ! — my  darling  !  my  treasure  !  my  delight  ! — Oh, 
Cummiskey  ! — but  it  can't  be — to  desert  me  ! — to  leave  me 
in  misery  and  sorrow,  broken-hearted,  distracted  ! — she  that 
was  the  prop  of  my  age,  that  loved  me  as  never  child  loved 
a  father  !  Begone,  Cummiskey,  it  is  not  so,  it  can't  be,  I 
say  :  search  again  ;  she  is  somewhere  in  the  house  ;  you 
don't  know,  sirra,  how  she  loved  me  :  why,  it  was  only  this 
night  that,  on  taking  her  good-night  kiss,  she — ha — what  ? 
what  ? — she  wept,  she  wept  bitterly,  and  bade  me  farewell ! 
and  said — Here,  Cummiskey,  assist  me  to  dress.  Oh,  I  see 
it,  Cummiskey,  I  see  it  !  she  is  gone  !  she  is  gone  !  yes,  she 
bade  me  farewell  ;  but  I  was  unsteady  and  unsettled  after 
too  much  drink,  and  did  not  comprehend  her  meaning." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  almost  frantic  distraction 
of  that  loving  father,  who,  as  he  said,  had  no  prop  to  lean 
upon  but  his  Cooleen  Bawn,  for  he  himself  often  loved  to 
call  her  by  that  appellation. 

"Cummiskey,"  he  proceeded,  "we  will  pursue  them — 
we  must  have  my  darling  back  :  yes,  and  I  will  forgive  her, 
for  what  is  she  but  a  child,  Cummiskey,  not  yet  twenty. 
But  in  the  meantime  I  will  shoot  him  dead — dead — dead — if 
he  had  a  thousand  lives  ;  and  from  this  night  out  I  shall 
pursue  Popery,  in  all  its  shapes  and  disguises  ;  I  will  im- 
prison it,  transport  it,  hang  it — hang  it,  Cummiskey,  as 
round  as  a  hoop.  Ring  the  bell,  and  let  Lanigan  unload, 
and  then  reload  my  pistols  ;  he  always  does  it  ;  his  father 
was  my  grandfather's  gamekeeper,  and  he  understands  fire- 
arms. Here,  though,  help  me  on  with  my  boots  first,  and 
then  I  will  be  dressed  immediately.  After  giving  the  pistols 
to  Lanigan,  desire  the  grooms  and  hostlers  to  saddle  all  the 
horses  in  the  stables.  We  must  set  out  and  pursue  them. 
It  is  possible  we  may  overtake  them  yet.  I  will  not  level  a 
pistol  against  my  child  ;  but,  by  the  great  Boyne  !  if  we 
meet  them,  come  up  with  them,  overtake  them,  his  guilty 
spirit  will  stand  before  the  throne  of  judgment  this  night. 
Go  now,  give  the  pistols  to  Lanigan,  and  tell  him  to  reload 
them  steadily." 

We  leave  them  now,  in  order  that  we  may  follow  the 
sheriff  and  his  party,  who  went  to  secure  the  body  of  the 
Red  Rapparee.  This  worthy  person,  not  at  all  aware  of  the 
friendly  office  which  his  patron,  Sir  Robert,  intended  to  dis- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  317 

charge  towards  him,  felt  himself  quite  safe,  and  consequently 
took  very  little  pains  to  secure  his  concealment.  Indeed, 
it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  he  should,  inasmuch  as 
Whitecraft  had  led  him  to  understand,  as  we  have  said,  that 
Government  had  pardoned  him  his  social  transgressions,  as 
a  per  contra  for  those  political  ones  which  they  still  expected 
from  him.  Such  was  his  own  view  of  the  case,  although  he 
was  not  altogether  free  from  misgiving,  and  a  certain  vague 
apprehension.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he  had  yet  to  learn  a 
lesson  which  his  employer  was  not  disposed  to  teach  him 
by  any  other  means  than  handing  him  over  to  the  authorities 
on  the  following  day.  How  matters  might  have  terminated 
between  him  and  the  baronet  it  is  out  of  our  power  to  de- 
tail. The  man  was  at  all  times  desperate  and  dreadful, 
where  either  revenge  or  anger  was  excited,  especially  as  he 
labored  under  the  superstitious  impression  that  he  was 
never  to  be  hanged  or  perish  by  a  violent  death,  a  sentiment 
then  by  no  means  uncommon  among  persons  of  his  out- 
rageous and  desperate  life.  It  has  been  observed,  and  with 
truth,  that  the  Irish  Rapparees  seldom  indulged  in  the 
habit  of  intoxication  or  intemperance,  and  this  is  not  at  all 
to  be  wondered  at.  The  meshes  of  authority  were  always 
spread  for  them,  and  the  very  consciousness  of  this  fact 
sharpened  their  wits,  and  kept  them  perpetually  on  their 
guard  against  the  possibility  of  arrest.  Nor  was  this  all. 
The  very  nature  of  the  lawless  and  outrageous  life  they  led, 
and  their  frequent  exposure  to  danger,  rendered  habits  of 
caution  necessary — and  those  were  altogether  incompatible 
with  habits  of  intemperance.  Self-preservation  rendered  this 
policy  necessary,  and  we  believe  there  are  but  few  instances 
on  record  of  a  Rapparee  having  been  arrested  in  a  state  of 
intoxication.  Their  laws,  in  fact,  however  barbarous  they 
were  in  other  matters,  rendered  three  cases  of  drunkenness 
a  cause  of  expulsion  from  the  gang.  O'Donnel,  however, 
had  now  relaxed  from  the  rigid  observance  of  his  own  rules, 
principally  for  the  reasons  we  have  already  stated — by 
which  we  mean,  a  conviction  of  his  own  impunity,  as  falsely 
communicated  to  him  by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  The 
sheriff  had  not  at  first  intended  to  be  personally  present 
at  his  capture  ;  but  upon  second  consideration  he  came  to 
the  determination  of  heading  the  party  who  were  authorized 
to  secure  him.     This  resolution  of  Oxley's  had,  as  will  pres- 


318  WILLY  KKILLY. 

entlv  be  seen,  a  serious  effect  upon  the  fate  and  fortunes 
of  the  Cooleen  Bawn  and  her  lover.  The  party,  who  were 
guided  by  Tom  Steeple,  did  not  go  to  Mary  Mahon's,  but 
to  a  neighboring  cottage,  which  was  inhabited  by  a  distant 
relative  of  O'Donnel.  A  quarrel  had  taken  place  between 
the  fortune-teller  and  him,  arising  from  his  jealousy  of  Sir 
Robert,  which  caused  such  an  estrangement  as  prevented 
him  for  some  time  from  visiting  her  house.  Tom  Steeple, 
however,  had  haunted  him  as  his  shadow,  without  ever 
coming  in  contact  with  him  personally,  and  on  this  night 
he  had  him  set  as  a  soho  man  has  a  hare  in  her  form. 
Guided,  therefore,  by  the  intelligent  idiot  and  Fergus,  the 
party  reached  the  cottage  in  which  the  Rapparee  resided. 
The  house  was  instantly  surrounded  and  the  door  knocked 
at,  for  the  party  knew  that  the  man  was  inside. 

"Who  is  there?"  asked  the  old  woman  who  kept  the 
cottage. 

11  Open  the  door  instantly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  or  we  shall 
smash  it  in." 

"No,  I  won't,"  she  replied  ;  "no,  I  won't,  you  bos- 
thoon,  whoever  you  are.  I  never  did  nothin'  agin  the  laws, 
bad  luck  to  them,  and  I  won't  open  my  door  to  any  stroll- 
ing vagabone  like  you." 

"  Produce  the  man  we  want,"  said  the  sheriff,  ■'  or  we 
shall  arrest  you  for  harboring  an  outlaw  and  a  murderer. 
Your  house  is  now  surrounded  by  military,  acting  under  the 
king's  orders." 

"  Give  me  time,"  said  the  crone  ;  "  I  was  at  my  prayers 
when  you  came  to  disturb  me,  and  I'll  finish  them  before  I 
open  the  door,  if  you  were  to  burn  the  house  over  my  head, 
and  myself  in  it.  Up,"  said  she  to  the  Rapparee,  "  through 
the  roof — get  that  ould  table  undher  your  feet — the  thatch 
is  thin — slip  out  and  lie  on  the  roof  till  they  go,  and  then 
let  them  whistle  jigs  to  the  larks  if  they  like." 

The  habits  of  escape  peculiar  to  the  Rapparees  were  well 
known  to  Fergus,  who  cautioned  those  who  surrounded  the 
house  to  watch  the  roof.  It  was  well  they  did  so,  for  in 
less  time  than  we  have  taken  to  describe  it  the  body  of  the 
Rapparee  was  seen  projecting  itself  upwards  through  the 
thin  thatch,  and  in  an  instant  several  muskets  were  levelled 
at  him,  accompanied  by  instant  orders  to  surrender  on  pain 
of  being  shot.     Under  such  circumstances  there  was  no  al- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  319 

ternative,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  handcuffed  and  a 
prisoner.  The  party  then  proceeded  along  the  road  on  which 
some  of  the  adventures  already  recorded  in  this  narrative 
had  taken  place,  when  they  were  met,  at  a  sharp  angle  of  it, 
by  Reilly  and  his  Coolccn  Bawn,  both  of  whom  were  almost 
instantly  recognized  by  the  sheriff  and  his  party.  Their  ar- 
rest was  immediate. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  I  am  sorry  for  this. 
You  must  feel  aware  that  I  neither  am  nor  ever  was  disposed 
to  be  your  enemy  ;  but  I  now  find  you  carrying  away  a 
Protestant  heiress,  the  daughter  of  my  friend,  contrary  to 
the  laws  of  the  land,  a  fact  which  in  itself  gives  me  the 
power  and  authority  to  take  you  into  custody,  which  I  ac- 
cordingly do  in  his  Majesty's  name.  I  owe  you  no  ill  will, 
but  in  the  meantime  you  must  return  with  me  to  Squire 
Folliard's  house.  Miss  Folliard,  you  must,  as  you  know 
me  to  be  your  father's  friend,  consider  that  I  feel  it  my  duty 
to  restore  you  to  him." 

"I  am  not  without  means  of  defence,"  replied  Reilly, 
"  but  the  exercise  of  such  means  would  be  useless.  Two 
of  your  lives  I  might  take  ;  but  yours,  Mr.  Sheriff,  could 
not  be  one  of  them,  and  that  you  must  feel." 

11  I  feel,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  you  are  a  man  of  honor  ;  and, 
in  point  of  fact,  there  is  ample  apology  for  your  conduct  in 
the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  young  lady  who  accompanies 
you  ;  but  I  must  also  feel  for  her  father,  whose  bereave- 
ment, occasioned  by  her  loss,  would  most  assuredly  break 
his  heart." 

Here  a  deep  panting  of  the  bosom,  accompanied  by  vio- 
lent sobs,  was  heard  by  the  party,  and  Coolcen  Bawn  whis- 
pered to  Reilly,  in  a  voice  nearly  stifled  by  grief  and  excite- 
ment : 

"  Dear  Reilly,  I  love  you  ;  but  it  was  madness  in  us  to 
take  this  step  ;  let  me  return  to  my  father — only  let  me  see 
him  safe  ?" 

11  But  Whitecraft  ?" 

"  Death  sooner.  Reilly,  I  am  ill,  I  am  ill  ;  this  struggle 
is  too  much  for  me.  What  shall  I  do  ?  My  head  is  swim- 
ming." 

She  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  when  her  father,  ac- 
companied by  his  servants,  dashed  rapidly  up,  and  Cum- 
miskey,  the  old  huntsman,  instantly  seized  Reilly,  exclaim- 


320  WILLY  REILLY. 

ing,  "  Mr.  Reilly,  we  have  you  now  ;"  and  whilst  he  spoke, 
his  impetuous  old  master  dashed  his  horse  to  one  side,  and 
discharged  a  pistol  at  our  hero,  and  this  failing,  he  dis- 
charged another.  Thanks  to  Lanigan,  however,  they  were 
both  harmless,  that  worthy  man  having;  forgotten  to  put  in 
bullets,  or  even  as  much  powder  as  would  singe  an  ordinary 
whisker. 

"Forbear,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff,  addressing  Cum- 
miskey  ;  "  unhand  Mr.  Reilly.  He  is  already  in  custody, 
and  you,  Mr.  Folliard,  may  thank  God  that  you  are  a  not 
murderer  this  night.  As  a  father,  I  grant  that  an  opology 
may  be  made  for  your  resentment,  but  not  to  the  shedding 
of  blood." 

11  Lanigan  !  villain  !  treacherous  and  deceitful  villain  !" 
shouted  the  squire,  "  it  was  your  perfidy  that  deprived  me 
of  my  revenge.  Begone,  you  sneaking  old  profligate,  and 
never  let  me  see  your  face  again.  You  did  not  load  my 
pistols  as  you  ought." 

11  No,  sir,"  replied  Lanigan,  "  and  I  thank  God  that  I 
did  not.  It  wasn't  my  intention  to  see  your  honor  hanged 
for  murder." 

"Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  sheriff,  "you  ought  to 
bless  God  that  gave  you  a  prudent  servant,  who  had  too 
much  conscience  to  become  the  instrument  of  your  ven- 
geance. Restrain  your  resentment  for  the  present,  and 
leave  Mr.  Reilly  to  the  laws  of  his  country.  We  shall  now 
proceed  to  your  house,  where,  as  a  magistrate,  you  can 
commit  him  to  prison,  and  I  will  see  the  warrant  executed 
this  night.  We  have  also  another  prisoner  of  some  celeb- 
rity, the  Red  Rapparee." 

"  By  sun  and  moon,  I'll  go  bail  for  him,"  replied  the  in- 
furiated squire.  "  I  like  that  fellow  because  Reilly  does 
not.  Sir  Robert  spoke  to  me  in  his  favor.  Yes,  I  snail  go 
bail  for  him,  to  any  amount." 

"  His  offence  is  not  a  bailable  one,"  said  the  cool  sheriff  ; 
"  nor,  if  the  thing  were  possible,  would  it  be  creditable  in 
you,  as  a  magistrate,  to  offer  yourself  as  bail  for  a  common 
robber,  one  of  the  most  notorious  highwaymen  of  the  day." 

"Well,  but  come  along,"  replied  the  squire;  "I  have 
changed  my  mind  ;  we  shall  hang  them  both  ;  Sir  Robert 
will  assist  and  support  me.  I  could  overlook  the  offence  of 
a  man  who  only  took  my  purse  ;  yes,  I  could  overlook  that, 


WILLY  REILLY.  321 

but  the  man  who  would  rob  me  of  my  child — of  the  solace 
and  prop  of  my  heart  and  life — of' — of — of — " 

Here  the  tears  came  down  his  cheeks  so  copiously  that  his 
sobs  prevented  him  from  proceeding.  He  recovered  him- 
self, however,  for  indeed  he  was  yet  scarcely  sober  after  the 
evening's  indulgence,  and  the  two  parties  returned  to  his 
house,  where,  after  having  two  or  three  glasses  of  Burgundy 
to  make  his  hand  steady,  he  prepared  himself  to  take  the 
sheriff's  informations  and  sign  unfortunate  R.eilly's  com- 
mittal to  Sligo  jail.  The  vindictive  tenacity  of  resentment 
by  which  the  heart  of  the  ruffian  Rapparee  was  animated 
against  that  young  man  was  evinced,  on  this  occasion,  by  a 
satanic  ingenuity  of  malice  that  was  completely  in  keeping 
with  the  ruffian's  character.  It  was  quite  clear,  from  the 
circumstances  we  are  about  to  relate,  that  the  red  miscreant 
had  intended  to  rob  Folliard's  house  on  the  night  of  his  at- 
tack upon  it,  in  addition  to  the  violent  abduction  of  his 
daughter.  We  must  premise  here  that  Reilly  and  the  Rap- 
paree were  each  strongly  guarded  in  different  rooms,  and 
the  first  thing  the  latter  did  was  to  get  some  one  to  inform 
Mr.  Folliard  that  he  had  a  matter  of  importance  concerning 
Reilly  to  mention  to  him.  This  was  immediately  on  their 
return,  and  before  the  informations  against  Reilly  were 
drawn  up.  Folliard,  who  knew  not  what  to  think,  paused 
for  some  time,  and  at  last,  taking  the  sheriff  along  with  him, 
went  to  hear  what  O'Donnel  had  to  say. 

"Is  that  ruffian  safe?"  he  asked,  before  entering  the 
room  ;  "  have  you  so  secured  him  that  he  can't  be  mis- 
chievous ?" 

11  Quite  safe,  your  honor,  and  as  harmless  as  a  lamb." 

He  and  the  sheriff  then  entered,  and  found  the  huge  sav- 
age champing  his  teeth  and  churning  with  his  jaws,  until  a 
line  of  white  froth  encircled  his  mouth,  rendering  him  a  hid- 
eous and  fearful  object  to  look  at. 

"What  is  this  you  want  with  me,  you  misbegotten  vil- 
lain," said  the  squire.  "  Stand  between  the  ruffian  and  me, 
fellows,  in  the  meantime — what  is  it,  sirra  ?" 

"  Who's  the  robber  now,  Mr.  Folliard  ?"  he  asked,  with 
something,  however,  of  a  doubtful  triumph  in  his  red  glaring 
eye.  "Your  daughter  had  jewels  in  a  black  cabinet,  and 
I'd  have  secured  the  same  jewels  and  your  daughter  along 
with  them,  on  a  certain  night,  only  for  Reilly  ;  and  it  was 


322  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

very  natural  he  should  out-general  me,  which  he  did  ;  but 
it  was  only  to  get  both  for  himself.  Let  him  be  searched 
at  wanst,  and,  although  I  don't  say  he  has  them,  yet  I'd 
give  a  hundred  to  one  he  has  ;  she  would  never  carry  them 
while  he  was  with  her." 

The  old  squire,  who  would  now,  with  peculiar  pleasure, 
have  acted  in  the  capacity  of  hangman  in  Reilly's  case,  had 
that  unfortunate  young  man  been  doomed  to  undergo  the 
penalty  of  the  law,  and  that  no  person  in  the  shape  of  Jack 
Ketch  was  forthcoming — he,  we  say — the  squire — started  at 
once  to  the  room  where  Reilly  was  secured,  accompanied 
also  by  the  sheriff,  and,  after  rushing  in  with  a  countenance 
inflamed  by  passion,  shouted  out  : 

"  Seize  and  examine  that  villain  ;  he  has  robbed  me — ex- 
amine him  instantly  :  he  has  stolen  the  family  jewels." 

Reilly's  countenance  fell,  for  he  knew  his  fearful  position  ; 
but  that  which  weighed  heaviest  upon  his  heart  was  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  misinterpretations  which  the  world  might 
put  upon  the  motives  of  his  conduct  in  this  elopement,  im- 
puting it  to  selfishness  and  a  mercenary  spirit.  When  about 
to  be  searched,  he  said  : 

"  You  need  not  ;  I  will  not  submit  to  the  indignity  of 
such  an  examination.  I  have  and  hold  the  jewels  for  Miss 
Folliard,  whose  individual  property  I  believe  they  are  ;  nay, 

I  am  certain  of  it,  because  she  told  me  so,  and  requested 
me  to  keep  them  for  her.  Let  her  be  sent  for,  and  I  shall 
hand  them  back  to  her  at  once,  but  to  no  other  person  with- 
out violence." 

"  But  she  is  not  in  a  condition  to  receive  them,"  replied 
the  sheriff  (which  was  a  fact)  ;  "  I  pledge  my  honor  she  is 
not." 

"  Well,  then,  Mr.  Sheriff,  I  place  them  in  your  hands  ; 
you  can  do  with  them  as  you  wish — that  is,  either  return 
them  to  Miss  Folliard,  the  legal  owner  of  them,  or  to  her 
father." 

The  sheriff  received  the  casket  which  contained  them,  and 
immediately  handed  it  to  Mr.  Folliard,  who  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  exclaiming  : 

"  Now,  Reilly,  if  we  can  hang  you  for  nothing  else,  we 
can  hang  you  for  this  ;  and  we  will,  sir." 

**  You,    sir,"    said  Reilly,   with  melancholy  indignation, 

II  are  privileged  to  insult  me  ;  so,  alas  !  is  every  man  now  ; 


WILLY  REILLY.  323 

but  I  can  retire  into  the  integrity  of  my  own  heart  and  find 
a  consolation  there  of  which  you  cannot  deprive  me.  My 
life  is  now  a  consideration  of  no  importance  to  myself,  since 
I  shall  die  with  the  consciousness  that  your  daughter  loved 
me.  You  do  not  hear  this  for  the  first  time,  for  that  daugh- 
ter avowed  it  to  yourself  !  and  if  I  had  been  mean  and  un- 
principled enough  to  have  abandoned  my  religion,  and  that 
of  my  persecuted  forefathers,  I  might  ere  this  have  been  her 
husband." 

"  Come,"  said  Folliard,  who  was  not  prepared  with  an 
answer  to  this,  "come,"  said  he,  addressing  , the  sheriff, 
"  come,  till  we  make  out  his  mittimus,  and  give  him  the  first 
shove  to  the  gallows." 

They  then  left  him. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SIR    ROBERT    ACCEPTS    OF    AN    INVITATION. 

THE  next  morning  rumor  had,  as  they  say,  her  hands 
and  tongues  very  full  of  business.  Reilly  and  the  Red 
Rapparee  were  lodged  in  Sligo  jail  that  night,  and  the  next 
morning  the  fact  was  carried  by  the  aforesaid  rumor  far  and 
wide  over  the  whole  country.  One  of  the  first  whose  ears 
it  reached  was  the  gallant  and  virtuous  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  who  no  sooner  heard  it  than  he  ordered  his  horse  and 
rode  at  a  rapid  rate  to  see  Mr.  Folliard,  in  order,  now  that 
Reilly  was  out  of  the  way,  to  propose  an  instant  marriage 
with  the  C00lee.11  Bawn.  He  found  the  old  man  in  a  state 
very  difficult  to  be  described,  for  he  had  only  just  returned 
to  the  drawing-room  from  the  strongly  sentinelled  chamber 
of  his  daughter.  Indignation  against  Reilly  seemed  now 
nearly  lost  in  the  melancholy  situation  of  the  wretched 
Cooleen  Bawn.  He  had  just  seen  her,  but,  somehow,  the 
interview  had  saddened  and  depressed  his  heart.  Her  posi- 
tion and  the  state  of  her  feelings  would  have  been  pitiable, 
even  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  ;  what,  then,  must  they  not 
have  been  to  a  father  who  loved  her  as  he  did  ? 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  as  he  took  a  chair  in  her  room,  after 
her  guards  had  been  desired  to  withdraw  for  a  time,  "  Helen, 


3^4-  WILLY  RELLLY. 

are  you  aware  that  you  have  eternally  disgraced  your  own 
name,  and  that  of  your  father  and  your  family  ?" 

Helen,  who  was  as  pale  as  death,  looked  at  him  with  va- 
cant and  unrecognizing  eyes,  but  made  no  reply,  for  it  was 
evident  that  she  either  had  not  heard,  or  did  not  understand, 
a  word  he  said. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  did  you  hear  me  ?" 

She  looked  upon  him  with  a  long  look  of  distress  and 
misery,  but  there  was  the  vacancy  still,  and  no  recognition. 

This,  I  suppose,  thought  the  father,  is  just  the  case  with 
every  love-sick  girl  in  her  condition,  who  will  not  be  allowed 
to  have  her  own  way  ;  but  of  what  use  is  a  father  unless  he 
puts  all  this  nonsense  down,  and  substitutes  his  own  judg- 
ment for  that  of  a  silly  girl.  I  will  say  something  now  that 
will  startle  her,  and  I  will  say  nothing  but  what  I  will  bring 
about. 

"  Helen,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "  are  you  both  deaf  and 
blind,  that  you  can  neither  see  nor  hear  your  father,  and  to- 
morrow your  wedding-day  ?  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  will  be 
here  early  ;  the  special  license  is  procured,  and  after  mar- 
riage you  and  he  start  for  his  English  estates  to  spend  the 
honeymoon  there,  after  which  you  both  must  return  and  live 
with  me,  for  I  need  scarcely  say,  Helen,  that  I  could  not  live 
without  you.  Now  I  think  you  ought  to  be  a  happy  girl 
to  get  a  husband  possessed  of  such  immense  property." 

She  started  and  looked  at  him  with  something  like  return- 
ing consciousness.     "  But  where  is  Willy  Reilly  ?"  she  asked. 

"  The  villain  that  would  have  robbed  me  of  my  property 
and  my  daughter  is  now  safe  in  Sligo  jail." 

A  flash  of  something  like  k)y — at  least  the  father  took  it  as 
such — sparkled  in  a  strange^ind  of  triumph  from  her  eyes. 

"  Ha,"  said  she,  "  is  that  villain  safe  at  last  ?  Dear  papa, 
I  am  tired  of  all  this — this — yes,  I  am  tired  of  it,  and  it  is 
time  I  should  ;  but  you  talked  about  something  else,  did 
you  not  ?  Something  about  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  a 
marriage.  And  what  is  my  reply  to  that  ?  why,  it  is  this, 
papa:  I  have  but  one  life,  sir.  Now  begone,  and  leave  me, 
or,  upon  my  honor,  I  will  push  you  out  of  the  room. 
Have  I  not  consented  to  all  your  terms.  Let  Sir  Robert 
come  to-morrow  and  he  shall  call  me  his  wife  before  the 
sun  reaches  his  meridian.  Now,  leave  me  ;  leave  me,  I 
say." 


WILLY  REILLY.  3^5 

In  this  uncertain  state  her  father  found  himself  compelled 
to  retire  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Sir  Robert  and  he  met. 

11  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  is  this  true  ?" 

"  Is  what  true,  Sir  Robert  ?"  said  he  sharply. 

"  Why,  that  Reilly  and  the  Red  Rapparee  are  both  in 
Sligo  jail  ?" 

11  It  is  true,  Sir  Robert  ;  and  it  must  be  a  cursed  thing  to 
be  in  jail  for  a  capital  crime. ' ' 

"Are  you  becoming  penitent,"  asked  the  other,  "for 
bringing  the  laws  of  the  land  to  bear  upon  the  villain  that 
would  have  disgraced,  and  might  have  ruined,  your  only 
daughter  ?" 

The  father's  heart  was  stung  by  the  diabolical  pungency 
of  this  question. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  we  will  hang  him,  if  it  was  only 
to  get  the  villain  out  of  the  way  ;  and  if  you  will  be  here 
to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock,  the  marriage  must  take  place. 
I'll  suffer  no  further  nonsense  about  it  ;  but,  mark  me,  after 
the  honeymoon  shall  have  passed,  you  and  she  must  come 
and  reside  here  ;  to  think  that  I  could  live  without  her  is 
impossible.  Be  here,  then,  at  ten  o'clock  ;  the  special  li- 
cense is  ready,  and  I  have  asked  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  to 
perform  the  ceremony.  A  couple  of  my  neighbor  Ashford's 
daughters  will  act  as  bridesmaids,  and  I  myself  will  give  her 
away  :  the  marriage  articles  are  drawn  up,  as  you  know, 
and  there  will  be  little  time  lost  in  signing  them  ;  and  yet, 
it's  a  pity  to — but  no  matter — be  here  at  ten." 

Whitecraft  took  his  leave  in  high  spirits.  The  arrest  and 
imprisonment  of  Reilly  had  removed  the  great  impediment 
that  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  way  of  his  marriage  ;  but  not 
so  the  imprisonment  of  the  Red  Rapparee.  The  baronet 
regretted  that  that  public  and  notorious  malefactor  had  been 
taken  out  of  his  own  hands,  because  he  wished,  as  the  reader 
knows,  to  make  the  delivering  of  him  up  to  the  Government 
one  of  the  elements  of  his  reconciliation  to  it.  Still,  as 
matters  stood,  he  felt  on  the  whole  gratified  at  what  had 
happened. 

Folliard,  after  the  baronet  had  gone,  knew  not  exactly 
how  to  dispose  of  himself.  The  truth  is,  the  man's  heart 
was  an  anomaly — a  series  of  contradictions,  in  which  one 
feeling  opposed  another  for  a  brief  space,  and  then  was 
obliged  to  make  way  for  a  new  prejudice  equally  transitory 


326  WILLY  R LILLY. 

and  evanescent.  Whitecraft  he  never  heartily  liked  ;  for 
though  the  man  was  blunt,  he  could  look  through  a  knave, 
and  appreciate  a  man  of  honor,  with  a  great  deal  of  shrewd 
accuracy.  To  be  sure,  Whitecraft  was  enormously  rich, 
but  then  he  was  penurious  and  inhospitable,  two  vices 
strongly  and  decidedly  opposed  to  the  national  feeling. 

11  Curse  the  long-legged  scoundrel,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  if  he 
should  beget  me  a  young  breed  of  Whitecrafts  like  himself 
I  would  rather  my  daughter  were  dead  than  marry  him. 
Then,  on  the  other  hand,  Reilly  ;  hang  the  fellow,  had  he 
only  recanted  his  nonsensical  creed,  I  could — but  then, 
again,  he  might,  after  marriage,  bring  her  over  to  the  Pa- 
pists, and  then,  by  the  Boyne,  all  my  immense  property 
would  become  Roman  Catholic.  By  Strongbow,  he'd  teach 
the  very  rivers  that  run  through  it  to  sing  Popish  psalms  in 
Latin  :  he  would.  However,  the  best  way  is  to  hang  him 
out  of  the  way,  and  when  Jack  Ketch  has  done  with  him, 
so  has  Helen.     Curse  Whitecraft,  at  all  events  !" 

We  may  as  well  hint  here  that  he  had  touched  the  Bur- 
gundy to  some  purpose  ;  he  was  now  in  that  state  of  mental 
imbecility  where  reason,  baffled  and  prostrated  by  severe 
mental  suffering  and  agitation,  was  incapable  of  sustaining 
him  without  having  recourse  to  the  bottle.  In  the  due 
progress  of  the  night  he  was  helped  to  bed,  and  had 
scarcely  been  placed  and  covered  up  there  when  he  fell  fast 
asleep. 

Whitecraft,  in  the  meantime,  suspected,  of  course,  or 
rather  he  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  that  unless  by 
some  ingenious  manoeuvre,  of  which  he  could  form  no  con- 
ception, a  marriage  with  the  Cooleen  Bawn  would  be  a  mat- 
ter of  surpassing  difficulty  ;  but  he  cared  not,  provided  it 
could  be  effected  by  any  means,  whether  foul  or  fair.  The 
attachment  of  this  scoundrel  to  the  fair  and  beautiful  Coolccn 
Bawn  was  composed  of  two  of  the  worst  principles  of  the 
heart — sensuality  and  avarice  ;  but,  in  this  instance,  avarice 
came  in  to  support  sensuality.  What  the  licentious  passions 
of  the  debauche  might  have  failed  to  tempt  him  to,  the 
consideration  of  her  large  fortune  accomplished.  And  such 
was  the  sordid  and  abominable  union  of  the  motives  which 
spurred  him  on  to  the  marriage. 

The  next  morning,  being  that  which  was  fixed  for  his 
wedding-day,  he  was  roused  at  an  early  hour  by  a  loud  rap- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  327 

ping  at  his  hall-door.  He  started  on  his  elbow  in  the  bed, 
and  ringing  the  bell  for  his  valet,  asked,  when  that  gentle- 
man entered  his  apartment  half  dressed,  "  What  was  the 
matter  ?  what  cursed  knocking  was  that  ?  Don't  they  know 
I  can  hunt  neither  priest  nor  Papist  now,  since  this  polite 
viceroy  came  here." 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  matter  is,  Sir  Robert ;  they  are 
at  it  again  ;  shall  I  open  the  door,  sir  ?" 

11  Certainly  ;  open  the  door  immediately." 

11  I  think  you  had  better  dress,  Sir  Robert,  and  see  what 
they  want." 

The  baronet  threw  his  long  fleshless  shanks  out  of  the 
bed,  and  began  to  get  on  his  clothes  as  fast  as  he  could. 

11  Ha  !"  said  he,  when  he  was  nearly  dressed,  "  what  if 
this  should  be  a  Government  prosecution  for  what  I  have 
undertaken  to  do  on  my  own  responsibility  during  the  last 
Administration  ?  'But  no,  surely  it  cannot  be  ;  they  would 
have  given  me  some  intimation  of  their  proceedings.  This 
was  due  to  my  rank  and  station  in  the  country,  and  to  my 
exertions,  a  zealous  Protestant,  to  sustain  the  existence  of 
Church  and  State.  Curse  Church  and  State  if  it  be  !  I 
have  got  myself,  perhaps,  into  a  pretty  mess  by  them." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  last  words  when  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, accompanied  by  two  or  three  officers  of  justice,  en- 
tered his  bedroom. 

"  Ah,  Hastings,  my  dear  friend,  what  is  the  matter?  Is 
there  any  thing  wrong,  or  can  I  be  of  any  assistance  to  you  ? 
if  so,  command  me.  But  we  are  out  of  power  now,  you 
know.  Still,  show  me  how  I  can  assist  you.  How  do  you 
do  ?"  and  as  he  spoke  he  put  his  hand  out  to  shake  hands 
with  Mr.  Hastings. 

11  No,  Sir  Robert,  I  cannot  take  your  hand,  nor  the 
hand  of  any  man  that  is  red  with  the  blood  of  murder. 
This,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  officers,  "is  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  ;  arrest  him  for  murder  and  arson." 

11  Why,  bless  me,  Mr.  Hastings,  are  you  mad  ?  Surely,  I 
did  nothing,  unless  under  the  sanction  and  by  the  instruc- 
tions of  the  last  Government  ?" 

11  That  remains  to  be  seen,  Sir  Robert  ;  but,  at  all  events,  I 
cannot  enter  into  any  discussion  with  you  at  present.  I  am 
here  as  a  magistrate.  Informations  have  been  sworn  against 
you  by  several  parties,  and  you  must  now  consider  yourself 


32S  WILLY  RE  ILL  V. 

our  prisoner  and  come  along  with  us.  There  is  a  party  cf 
cavalry  below  to  escort  you  to  Sligo  jail." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  be  conveyed  there  ?  I  hope  I  will  be 
allowed  my  own  carriage  ?" 

"  Unquestionably,"  replied  Mr.  Hastings  ;  "  I  was  about 
to  have  proposed  it  myself.  You  shall  be  treated  with  every 
respect,  sir." 

"  May  I  not  breakfast  before  I  go  ?" 

11  Certainly,  sir  ;  we  wish  to  discharge  our  duty  in  the 
mildest  possible  manner." 

"  Thank  you,  Hastings,  thank  you  ;  you  were  always  a 
good-hearted,  gentlemanly  fellow.  You  will,  of  course, 
breakfast  with  me  ;  and  these  men  must  be  attended  to." 

And  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  I  have  already  breakfasted,  Sir  Robert  ;  but  even  if  I 
had  not,  it  would  not  become  me,  as  your  prosecutor,  to  do 
so  ;  but  perhaps  the  men — " 

"  What,"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  interrupting  him,  "  you 
my  prosecutor  !  For  what,  pray  ?" 

"  That  will  come  in  time,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  and  you 
may  rest  assured  that  I  would  not  be  here  now  were  I  not 
made  aware  that  you  were  about  to  be  married  to  that  sweet 
girl  whom  you  have  persecuted  with  such  a  mean  and  un- 
manly spirit,  and  designed  to  start  with  her  for  England 
this  day." 

Whitecraft,  now  that  he  felt  the  dreadful  consequences  of 
the  awful  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  became  the  very 
picture  of  despair  and  pusillanimity  ;  his  complexion  turned 
haggard,  his  eyes  wild,  and  his  hands  trembled  so  much 
that  he  was  not  able  to  bring  the  tea  or  bread  and  butter  to 
his  lips  ;  in  fact,  such  an  impersonation  of  rank  and  unman- 
ly cowardice  could  not  be  witnessed.  He  rose  up,  exclaim- 
ing, in  a  faint  and  hollow  voice,  that  echoed  no  other  sensa- 
tion than  that  of  horror  : 

"  I  cannot  breakfast  ;  I  can  eat  nothing.  What  a  fate  is 
this  !  on  the  very  day,  too,  which  I  thought  would  have 
consummated  my  happiness  !     Oh,  it  is  dreadful  !" 

His  servant  then,  by  Mr.  Hastings'  orders,  packed  up 
changes  of  linen  and  apparel  in  his  trunk,  for  he  saw  that 
he  himself  had  not  the  presence  of  mind  to  pay  attention  to 
any  thing.  In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  was 
ready,  and  with  tottering  steps  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and 


WILLY  REILLY.  329 

was  obliged  to  be  assisted  into  it  by  two  constables,  who 
took  their  places  beside  him.  Mr.  Hastings  bowed  to  him 
coldly,  but  said  nothing  ;  the  coachman  smacked  his  whip, 
and  was  about  to  start,  when  he  turned  round  and  said  : 

"  Where  am  I  to  drive,  Sir  Robert  ?" 

"To  Sligo  jail,"  replied  one  of  the  constables,  "as 
quick  as  you  can  too." 

The  horses  got  a  lash  or  two,  and  bounded  on,  whilst  an 
escort  of  cavalry,  with  swords  drawn,  attended  the  coach 
until  it  reached  its  gloomy  destination,  where  we  will  leave 
it  for  the  present. 

The  next  morning,  as  matters  approached  to  a  crisis,  the 
unsteady  old  squire  began  to  feel  less  comfortble  in  his 
mind  than  he  could  have  expected.  To  say  truth,  he  had 
often  felt  it  rather  an  unnatural  process  to  marry  so  lovely  a 
girl  to  "  such  an  ugly  stork  of  a  man  as  Whitecraft  was,  and 
a  knave  to  boot.  I  cannot  forget  how  he  took  me  in  by 
the  '  Hop-and-go-constant  '  affair.  But  then  he's  a  good 
Protestant — not  that  I  mean  he  has  a  single  spark  of  religion 
in  his  nondescript  carcass  ;  but  in  those  times  it's  not  cant- 
ing and  psalm-singing  we  want,  but  good  political  Protest- 
antism, that  will  enable  us  to  maintain  our  ascendancy  by 
other  means  than  praying.  Curse  the  hound  that  keeps 
him  ? '  Is  this  a  day  for  him  to  be  late  on  ?  and  it  now 
half  past  ten  o'clock  ;  however,  he  must  come  soon  ; 
but,  upon  my  honor,  I  dread  what  will  happen  when  he 
does.  A  scene  there  will  be  no  doubt  of  it  ;  however,  we 
must  only  struggle  through  it  as  well  as  we  can.  I'll  go  and 
see  Helen,  and  try  to  reconcile  her  to  this  chap,  or,  at  all 
events,  to  let  her  know  at  once  that,  be  the  consequences 
what  they  may,  she  must  marry  him,  if  I  were  myself  to 
hold  her  at  the  altar." 

When  he  had  concluded  this  soliloquy,  Ellen  Connor, 
without  whose  society  Helen  could  now  scarcely  live,  and 
who,  on  this  account,  had  not  been  discharged  after  her 
elopement,  she,  we  say,  entered  the  room,  her  eye  resolute 
with  determination,  and  sparkling  with  a  feeling  which 
evinced  an  indignant  sense  of  his  cruelty  in  enforcing  this 
odious  match.  The  old  man  looked  at  her  with  surprise, 
for  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  ventured  to  obtrude 
her  conversation  upon  him,  or  to  speak,  unless  when 
spoken  to. 


33°  WILLY  REILLY. 

"Well,  madam,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  want?  Have 
you  any  message  from  your  mistress  ?  if  not,  what  brings 
you  here  ?" 

"  I  have  no  message  from  my  mistress,"  she  replied  in  a 
loud,  if  not  in  a  vehement,  voice  ;  "  I  don't  think  my  mis- 
tress is  capable  of  sending  a  message  ;  but  I  came  to  tell 
you  that  the  God  of  heaven  will  soon  send  you  a  message, 
and  a  black  one  too,  if  you  allow  this  cursed  marriage  to  go 
on." 

11  Get  out,  you  jade — leave  the  room  ;  how  is  it  your 
affair  ?" 

11  Because  I  have  what  you  want — a  heart  of  pity  and 
affection  in  my  breast.  Do  you  want  to  drive  your  daugh- 
ter mad,  or  to  take  her  life  ?" 

"Begone,  you  impudent  hussy;  why  do  you  dare  to 
come  here  on  such  an  occasion,  only  to  annoy  me  ?" 

"  I  will  not  begone,"  she  replied,  with  a  glowing  cheek, 
"  unless  I  am  put  out  by  force — until  I  point  out  the  con- 
sequences of  your  selfish  tyranny  and  weakness.  I  don't  come 
to  annoy  you,  but  I  come  to  warn  you,  and  to  tell  you,  that 
I  know  your  daughter  better  than  you  do  yourself.  This 
marriage  must  not  go  on  ;  or,  if  it  does,  send  without  delay 
to  a  lunatic  asylum  for  a  keeper  for  that  only  daughter.  I 
know  her  well,  and  I  tell  you  that  that's  what  it'll  come  to." 

The  squire  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  being  thus  ad- 
dressed by  any  of  his  servants  ;  and  the  consequence  was 
that  the  thing  was  new  to  him  ;  so  much  so  that  he  felt 
not  only  annoyed,  but  so  much  astounded,  that  he  absolutely 
lost,  for  a  brief  period,  the  use  of  his  speech.  He  looked 
at  her  with  astonishment — then  about  the  room — then  up  at 
the  ceiling,  and  at  length  spoke  : 

"What  the  deuce  does  all  this  mean?  What  are  you 
driving  at  ?     Prevent  the  marriage,  you  say  ?" 

"  If  the  man,"  proceeded  Connor,  not  even  waiting  to 
give  him  an  answer — "  if  the  man  had  but  one  good  point — 
one  good  quality — one  virtue  in  his  whole  composition  to 
redeem  him  from  contempt  and  hatred — if  he  had  but  one 
feature  in  his  face  only  as  handsome  as  the  worst  you  could 
find  in  the  devil's — yes,  if  he  had  but  one  good  thought,  or 
one  good  feature  in  either  his  soul  or  body,  why — vile  as  it 
would  be — and  barbarous  as  it  would  be — and  shameful  and 
cruel   as  it  would  be — still,   it  would  have  the  one   good 


WILLY  REILLY.  33 1 

thought,  and  the  one  good  feature  to  justify  it.  But  here, 
in  this  deep  and  wretched  villain,  there  is  nothing  but  one 
mass  of  vice  and  crime  and  deformity  ;  all  that  the  eye  can 
see,  or  the  heart  discover,  in  his  soul  or  body,  is  as  black, 
odious,  and  repulsive  as  could  be  conceived  of  the  worst 
imp  of  perdition.  And  this  is  the  man — the  persecutor — 
the  miser — the  debauche — the  hypocrite — the  murderer, 
and  the  coward,  that  you  are  going  to  join  your  good — vir- 
tuous— spotless — and  beautiful  daughter  to  !  Oh,  shame 
upon  you,  you  heartless  old  man  ;  don't  dare  to  say,  or 
pretend,  that  you  love  her  as  a  father  ought,  when  you  would 
sacrifice  her  to  so  base  and  damnable  a  villain  as  that.  And 
again,  and  what  is  more,  I  tell  you  not  to  prosecute  Reilly  ; 
for,  as  sure  as  the  Lord  above  is  in  heaven,  your  daughter 
is  lost,  and  you'll  not  only  curse  Whitecraft,  but  the  day 
and  hour  in  which  you  were  born — black  and  hopeless  will 
be  your  doom  if  you  do.  And  now,  sir,  I  have  done  ;  I 
felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  tell  you  this,  and  to  warn  you  against 
what  I  know  will  happen  unless  you  go  back  upon  the  steps 
you  have  taken." 

She  then  courtesied  to  him  respectfully,  and  left  the  room 
in  a  burst  of  grief  which  seized  her  when  she  had  concluded. 

Ellen  Connor  was  a  girl  by  no  means  deficient  in  educa- 
tion— thanks  to  the  care  and  kindness  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn, 
who  had  herself  instructed  her.  'Tis  true,  she  had  in  ordi- 
nary and  familiar  conversation  a  touch  of  the  brogue  ;  but, 
when  excited,  or  holding  converse  with  respectable  per- 
sons, her  language  was  such  as  would  have  done  no  discredit 
to  many  persons  in  a  much  higher  rank  of  life. 

After  she  had  left  the  room,  Folliard  looked  towards  the 
door  by  which  she  had  taken  her  exit,  as  if  he  had  her  still 
in  his  vision.  He  paused — he  meditated — he  walked  about, 
and  seemed  taken  thoroughly  aback. 

11  By  earth  and  sky,"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  that's  the  most 
comical  affair  I  have  seen  yet.  Comical  !  no,  not  a  touch 
of  comicality  in  it.  Zounds,  is  it  possible  that  the  jade  has 
coerced  and  beaten  me  ? — dared  to  beard  the  lion  in  his 
own  den — to  strip  him,  as  it  were,  of  his  claws,  and  to  pull 
the  very  fangs  out  of  his  jaws,  and,  after  all,  to  walk  away 
in  triumph  ?  Hang  me,  but  I  must  have  a  strong  touch  of 
the  coward  in  me  or  I  would  not  have  knuckled  as  I  did  to 
the  jade.     Yet,   hold — can   I,  or  ought   I  to  be  angry  with 


$32  WILLY  REILLY. 

her,  when  I  know  that  this  hellish  racket  all  proceeded  from 
her  love  to  Helen.  Hang  me,  but  she's  a  precious  bit  of 
goods,  and  I'll  contrive  to  make  her  a  present,  somehow, 
for  her  courage.     Beat  me  !  by  sun  and  sky  she  did." 

He  then  proceeded  to  Helen's  chamber,  and  ordered  her 
attendants  out  of  the  room  ;  but,  on  looking  at  her,  he  felt 
surprised  to  perceive  that  he  complexion,  instead  of  being 
pale,  was  quite  flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashing  with  a  strange 
wild  light  that  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 

"Helen,"  said  he,  "what's  the  matter,  love?  are  you 
unwell  ?" 

She  placed  her  two  snowy  hands  on  her  temples,  and 
pressed  them  tightly,  as  if  striving  to  compress  her  brain 
and  bring  it  within  the  influence  of  reason. 

"  I  fear  you  are  unwell,  darling,"  he  continued  ;  "  you 
look  flushed  and  feverish.  Don't,  however,  be  alarmed  ; 
if  you're  not  well,  I'd  see  that  knave  of  a  fellow  hanged  be- 
fore I'd  marry  you  to  him,  and  you  in  that  state.  The 
thing's  out  of  the  question,  my  darling  Helen,  and  must  not 
be  done.  No  :  God  forbid  that  I  should  be  the  means  of 
murdering  my  only  child." 

So  much,  we  may  fairly  presume,  proceeded  from  the 
pithy  lecture  of  Ellen  Connor  ;  but  the  truth  was,  that  the 
undefinable  old  squire  was  the  greatest  parental  coward  in 
the  world.  In  the  absence  of  his  daughter  he  would  rant 
and  swear  and  vapor,  strike  the  ground  with  his  staff,  and 
give  other  indications  of  the  most  extraordinary  resolution, 
combined  with  fiery  passion,  that  seemed  alarming.  No 
sooner,  however,  did  he  go  into  her  presence,  and  contem- 
plate not  only  her  wonderful  beauty,  but  her  goodness,  her 
tenderness  and  affection  for  himself,  than  the  bluster  de- 
parted from  him,  his  resolution  fell,  his  courage  oozed  away, 
and  he  felt  that  he  was  fairly  subdued,  under  which  circum- 
stances he  generally  entered  into  a  new  treaty  of  friendship 
and  affection  with  the  enemy. 

Helen's  head  was  aching  dreadfully,  and  she  felt  feverish 
and  distracted.  Her  father's  words,  however,  and  the 
affection  which  they  expressed,  went  to  her  heart  ;  she 
threw  her  arms  about  him,  kissed  him,  and  was  relieved  by 
a  copious  flood  of  tears. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "  you  are  both  kind  and  good  ;  surely 
you  wouldn't  kill  your  poor  Helen  ?" 


WILLY  REILLY.  333 

"  Me  kill  you,  Helen  ! — oh,  no,  faith.  If  Whitecraft 
were  hanged  to-morrow  it 'wouldn't  give  me  half  so  much 
pain  as  if  your  little  finger  ached." 

Just  at  this  progress  of  the  dialogue  a  smart  and  impa- 
tient knock  came  to  the  door. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  said  the  squire  ;  "  come  in — or,  stay  till 
I  see  who  you  are."  He  then  opened  the  door  and  ex- 
claimed, "  What  !  Lanigan  ! — why,  you  infernal  old 
scoundrel  !  how  dare  you  have  the  assurance  to  look  me  in 
the  face,  or  to  come  under  my  roof  at  all,  after  what  I  said 
to  you  about  the  pistols  ?" 

"  Ay,  but  you  don't  know  the  good  news  I  have  for  you 
and  Miss  Helen." 

11  Oh,  Lanigan,  is  Reilly  safe  ? — is  he  set  at  large  ?  Oh,  I 
am  sure  he  must  be.  Never  was  so  noble,  so  pure,  and  so 
innocent  a  heart." 

11  Curse  him,  look  at  the  eye  of  him,"  said  her  father, 
pointing  his  cane  at  Lanigan  ;  "  it's  like  the  eye  of  a  sharp- 
shooter.    What  are  you  grinning  at,  you  old  scoundrel  ?' ' 

"  Didn't  you  expect  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  here  to-day 
to  marry  Miss  Folliard,  sir  ?" 

11  I  did,  sirra,  and  I  do  ;  he'll  be  here  immediately." 

"  Devil  a  foot  he'll  come  to-day,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and 
that's  the  way  he  treats  your  daughter  !" 

11  What  does  this  old  idiot  mean,  Helen  ?  Have  you  been 
drinking,  sirra  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  sir,  but  plaise  the  Lord  I'll  soon  be  at  it." 

11  Lanigan,"  said  Helen,  "  will  you  state  at  once  what  you 
have  to  say  ?' ' 

"  I  will,  miss  ;  but,  first  and  foremost,  I  must  show  you 
how  to  dance  the  '  Little  House  under  the  Hill,"  and  as  he 
spoke  he  commenced  whistling  that  celebrated  air  and 
dancing  to  it  with  considerable  alacrity  and  vigor,  making 
allowances  for  his  age. 

The  father  and  daughter  looked  at  each  other,  and 
Helen,  notwithstanding  her  broken  spirits,  could  not  avoid 
smiling.  Lanigan  continued  the  dance,  kept  wheeling 
about  to  all  parts  of  the  room,  like  an  old  madcap,  cut- 
ting, capering,  and  knocking  up  his  heels  against  his  ham, 
with  a  vivacity  that  was  a  perfect  mystery  to  his  two  spec- 
tators, as  was  his  whole  conduct. 

"  Now,  you   drunken   old   scoundrel,"    said   his   master, 


334  WILLY  REILLY. 

catching  him  by  the  collar  and  flourishing  the  cane  over  his 
head,  "  if  you  don't  give  a  direct  answer  I  will  cane  you 
within  an  inch  of  your  life.  What  do  you  mean  when  you 
say  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  won't  come  here  to-day  ?" 

11  Bekaise,  sir,  it  isn't  convanient  to  him." 

"  Why  isn't  it  convenient,  you  scoundrel  ?" 

"  Bekaise,  sir,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  try  a  change  of 
air  for  the  benefit  of  his  health  before  he  starts  upon  his 
journey  ;  and  as  he  got  a  very  friendly  invitation  to  spend 
some  time  in  Sligo  jail  he  accepted  it,  and  if  you  go  there 
you  will  find  him  before  you.  It  seems  he  started  this 
morning  in  great  state,  with  two  nice  men  belonging  to  the 
law  in  the  carriage  with  him,  to  see  that  he  should  want 
for  nothing,  and  a  party  of  cavalry  surroundin'  his  honor's 
coach,  as  if  he  was  one  of  the  judges,  or  the  Lord  Lieu1 
tenant." 

The  figurative  style  of  his  narrative  would  unquestionably 
have  caused  him  to  catch  the  weight  of  the  cane  aforesaid 
had  not  Helen  interfered  and  saved  him  for  the  nonce. 

"  Let  me  at  him,  Helen,  let  me  at  him — the  drunken  old 
rip  ;  why  does  he  dare  to  humbug  us  in  this  manner  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  if  you  wish  to  hear  the  good  news, 
and  especially  you,  Miss  Folliard,  it  will  probably  relieve 
your  heart  when  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  is, 
before  this  time,  in  the  jail  of  Sligo,  for  a  charge  of  raur- 
dher,  and  for  burnin'  Mr.  Reilly's  house  and  premises, 
which  it  now  seems  aren't  Mr.  Reilly's  at  all — nor  ever 
were — but  belong  to  Mr.  Hastings." 

11  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  the  squire,  "  this  is  dread- 
ful :  but  is  it  true,  sirra  ?" 

11  Why,  sir,  if  you  go  to  his  house  you'll  find  it  so." 

11  Oh,  papa,"  said  Helen,  "  surely  they  wouldn't  hang 
him?" 

"  Hang  him,  Helen  ;  why,  Helen,  the  tide's  turned  ;  they 
want  to  make  him  an  example  for  the  outrages  that  he  and 
others  have  committed  against  the  unfortunate  Papists. 
Hang  him  !  — as  I  live,  he  and  the  Red  Rapparee  will  both 
swing  from  the  same  gallows  ;  but  there  is  one  thing  I  say 
— if  he  hangs  I  shall  take  care  that  that  obstinate  scoundrel, 
Reilly,  shall  also  swing  along  with  him." 

Helen  became  as  pale  as  ashes,  the  flush  had  disappeared 
from  her  countenance,  and  she  burst  again  into  tears. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  335 

11  Oh,  papa,"  she  exclaimed,  "  spare  Reilly  :  he  is  inno- 
cent." 

"  I'll  hang  him,"  he  replied,  "  if  it  should  cost  me.  ten 
thousand  pounds.  Go  you,  sirra,  and  desire  one  of  the 
grooms  to  saddle  me  Black  Tom  ;  he  is  the  fastest  horse  in 
my  stables  ;  I  cannot  rest  till  I  ascertain  the  truth  of 
this." 

On  passing  the  drawing-room  he  looked  in,  and  found 
Mr.  Strong  and  the  two  Misses  Ashford  waiting,  the  one  to 
perform,  and  the  others  to  attend,  at  the  ceremony. 

"  Mr.  Strong  and  ladies,"  said  he,  with  looks  of  great 
distraction,  "  I  fear  there  will  be  no  marriage  here  to-day. 
An  accident,  I  believe,  has  happened  to  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  that  will  prevent  his  being  a  party  in  the  ceremony, 
for  this  day  at  least." 

"  An  accident  !"  exclaimed  the  ladies  and  the  clergyman. 
"  Pray,  Mr.  Folliard,  what  is  it  ?  how  did  it  happen  ?" 

"lam  just  going  to  ride  over  to  Sir  Robert's  to  learn 
every  thing  about  it,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  will  be  but  a  short 
time  absent.  But  how!"  he  added,  "here's  his  butler, 
and  I  will  get  every  thing  from  him.  Oh,  Thomas,  is  this 
you  ?  follow  me  to  my  study,  Thomas. 

As  the  reader  already  knows  all  that  Thomas  could  tell 
him,  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that  he  returned  to  the 
drawing-room  with  a  sad  and  melancholy  aspect. 

11  There  is  no  use,"  said  he,  addressing  them,  "  in  con- 
cealing what  will  soon  be.  known  to  the  world.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  has  been  arrested,  on  a  charge  of  murder  and 
arson,  and  is  now  a  prisoner  in  the  county  jail." 

This  was  startling  intelligence  to  them  all,  especially  to 
the  parson,  who  found  that  the  hangman  was  likely  to  cut 
him  out  of  his  fees.  The  ladies  screamed,  and  said,  "  it 
was  a  shocking  thing  to  have  that  delightful  man  hanged  ;" 
and  then  asked  if  the  bride-elect  had  heard  it. 

11  She  has  heard  it,"  replied  her  father,  "  and  I  have  just 
left  her  in  tears  ;  but,  upon  my  soul,  I  don't  think  there 
is  one  of  them  shed  for  him.  Well,  Mr.  Strong,  I  believe, 
after  all,  there  is  likely  to  be  no  marriage,  but  that  is  not 
your  fault ;  you  came  here  to  do  your  duty,  and  I  think  it 
only  just — a  word  with  you  in  the  next  apartment,"  he 
added,  and  then  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room.  ' '  I  was 
about  to  say,  Mr.  Strong,  that  it  would  be  neither  just  nor 


33$  WILLY  REILLY. 

reasonable  to  deprive  your  of  your  fees  ;  here  is  a  ten- 
pound  note,  and  it  would  have  been  twenty  had  the  mar- 
riage taken  place.  I  must  go  to  Sligo  to  see  the  unfortunate 
baronet,  and  try  what  can  be  done  for  him — that  is,  if  any 
thing  can,  which  I  greatly  doubt. ' ' 

The  parson  protested  against  the  receipt  of  the  ten-pound 
note  very  much  in  the  style  of  a  bashful  schoolboy,  who 
pretends  to  refuse  an  apple  from  a  strange  relation  when  he 
comes  to  pay  a  visit,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  the  young 
monkey's  chops  are  watering  for  it.  With  some  faint  show 
of  reluctance  he  at  length  received  it,  and  need  we  say 
that  it  soon  disappeared  in  one  of  his  sanctified  pockets. 

"  Strong,  my  dear  fellow,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "  you 
will  take  a  seat  with  these  ladies  in  their  carriage  and  see 
them  home." 

"  I  would,  with  pleasure,  my  dear  friend,  but  that  I  am 
called  upon  to  console  poor  Mrs.  Smellpriest  for  the  loss  of 
the  captain." 

"  The  captain  !  why,  what  has  happened  him  ?" 

"  Alas  !  sir,  an  unexpected  and  unhappy  fate.  He  went 
out  last  night  a  priest-hunting,  like  a  godly  sportsman  of  the 
Church,  as  he  was,  and  on  his  return  from  an  unsuccessful 
chase  fell  off  his  horse  while  in  the  act  of  singing  that  far- 
famed  melody  called  '  Lillibullero, '  and  sustained  such  severe 
injuries  that  he  died  on  that  very  night,  expressing  a  very 
ungodly  penitence  for  his  loyalty  in  persecuting  so  many 
treasonable  Popish  priests." 

The  squire  seemed  amazed,  and,  after  a  pause,  said  : 

11  He  repented,  you  say  ;  upon  my  soul,  then,  I  am  glad 
to  hear  it,  for  it  is  more  than  I  expected  from  him,  and,  be- 
tween you  and  me,  Strong,  I  fear  it  must  have  taken  a  devil- 
ish large  extent  of  repentance  to  clear  him  from  the  crimes 
he  committed  against  both  priests  and  Popery." 

11  Ah,"  replied  Strong,  with  a  groan  of  deep  despond- 
ency, "  but,  unfortunately,  my  dear  sir,  he  did  not  repent 
of  his  sins — that  is  the  worst  of  it — Satan  must  have  tempted 
him  to  transfer  his  repentance  to  those  very  acts  of  his  life 
upon  which,  as  a  Christian  champion,  he  should  have  de- 
pended for  justification  above — I  mean,  devoting  his  great 
energies  so  zealously  to  the  extermination  of  idolatry  and 
error.  What  was  it  but  repenting  for  his  chief  virtues,  in- 
stead of  relying,  like  a  brave  and  dauntless  soldier  of  our 


WILLY  REILLY.  337 

Establishment,  upon  his  praiseworthy  exertions  to  rid  it  of 
its  insidious  and  relentless  enemies  ?" 

The  squire  looked  at  him. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Strong — by  the  great  Boyne,  I'd  give 
a  trifle  to  see  you  get  a  smart  touch  of  persecution  in  your 
own  person  ;  it  might  teach  you  a  little  more  charity  towards 
those  who  differ  with  you  ;  but,  upon  my  honor,  if  any 
change  in  our  national  parties  should  soon  take  place,  and 
that  the  Papists  should  get  the  upper  hand,  I  tell  you  to 
your  teeth  that  if  ever  your  fat  ribs  should  be  tickled  by 
the  whip  of  persecution,  they  would  render  you  great  injus- 
tice who  should  do  it  for  the  sake  of  religion— &  commodity 
with  which  I  see,  from  the  spirit  of  your  present  sentiments, 
you  are  not  over-burdened.  However,  in  the  meantime,  I 
daresay  that  whatever  portion  you  possess  of  it,  you  will 
charitably  expend  in  consoling  his  widow,  as  you  say. 
Good-morning  !" 

We  must  return,  however,  to  the  close  of  Smellpriest's 
very  sudden  and  premature  departure  from  the  scene  of  his 
cruel  and  merciless  labors.  Having  reached  the  stripe 
already  described  to  him  by  Mr.  Strong,  and  to  which  he 
was  guided  by  his  men,  he  himself  having  been  too  far  ad- 
vanced in  liquor  to  make  out  his  way  with  any  kind  of  cer- 
tainty, he  proceeded,  still  under  their  direction,  to  the  cot- 
tage adjoining,  which  was  immediately  surrounded  by  the 
troopers.  After  knocking  at  the  door  with  violence,  and 
demanding  instant  admittance,  under  the  threat  of  smashing 
it  in,  and  burning  the  house  as  a  harbor  for  rebellious 
priests,  the  door  was  immediately  opened  by  a  gray-headed 
old  man,  feeble  and  decrepit  in  appearance,  but  yet  without 
any  manifestation  of  terror  either  in  his  voice  or  features. 
He  held  a  candle  in  his  hand,  and  asked  them,  in  a  calm, 
composed  voice,  what  it  was  they  wanted,  and  why  they 
thus  came  to  distuib  him  and  his  family  at  such  an  unseason- 
able hour. 

11  Why,  you  treasonable  old  scoundrel,"  shouted  Smell- 
priest,  "  haven't  you  got  a  rebel  and  recuscant  Popish  priest 
in  the  house  ?  I  say,  you  gray-headed  old  villain,  turn  him 
out  on  the  instant,  or,  if  you  hesitate  but  half  a  minute, 
we'll  make  a  bonfire  of  you,  him,  the  house,  and  all  that's 
in  it.  Zounds,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  burn  a  house 
as  well  as  Whitecraft.    That  cursed  baronet  is  getting  ahead 


33%  WILLY  RELLLY. 

of  me,  but  I  think  I  am  entitled  to  a  bonfire  as  well  as  he 
is.  Shall  we  burn  the  house?"  he  added,  addressing  his 
men. 

11  I  think  you  had  better  not,  captain,"  replied  the  princi- 
pal  of  them  ;  "  recollect  there  are  new  regulations  now.  It 
wouldn't  be  safe,  and  might  only  end  in  hanging  every  man 
of  us — yourself  among  the  rest." 

"But  why  doesn't  the  old  rebel  produce  the  priest?" 
asked  their  leader.  "  Come  here,  sirra — hear  me — produce 
that  lurking  priest  immediately." 

"  I  don't  exactly  understand  you,  captain,"  replied  the 
old  man,  who  appeared  to  know  Smellpriest  right  well.  "  I 
don't  think  it's  to  my  house  you  should  come  to  lock  for  a 
priest." 

' '  Why  not,  you  villain  ?  I  have  been  directed  here,  and 
told  that  I  would  find  my  game  under  your  roof." 

11  In  the  first  place,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  a  firm  and 
intrepid  voice,  "lam  no  villain  ;  and  in  the  next,  I  say,  that 
if  any  man  directed  you  to  this  house  in  quest  of  a  priest,  he 
must  have  purposely  sent  you  upon  a  fool's  errand.  I  am  a 
Protestant,  Captain  Smellpriest  ;  but,  Protestant  as  I  am,  I 
tell  you  to  your  face  that  if  I  could  give  shelter  to  a  poor  per- 
secuted priest,  and  save  him  from  the  clutches  of  such  men 
as  you  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  I  would  do  it.  In  the 
meantime,  there  is  neither  priest  nor  friar  under  this  roof ; 
you  can  come  in  and  search  the  house,  if  you  wish." 

"  Why,  gog's  ouns,  father,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men, 
"  how  does  it  come  that  we  find  you  here  ?" 

"  Very  simply,  John,"  replied  his  father — for  such  he 
was — "  I  took  this  cottage,  and  the  bit  of  land  that  goes  with 
it,  from  honest  Andy  Morrow,  and  we  are  not  many  hours 
in  it.  The  house  was  empty  for  the  last  six  months,  so 
that  I  say  again,  whoever  sent  Captain  Smellpriest  here  sent 
him  upon  a  fool's  errand — upon  a  wild-goose  chase." 

The  gallant  captain  started  upon  hearing  these  latter  words. 

"What  does  he  say,"  he  asked — "a  wild-goose  chase  ! 
Right — right,"  he  added,  in  a  soliloquy  ;  "  Strong  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  the  black  scoundrel  !  but  still,  let  us  search 
the  house  ;  the  old  fellow  admits  that  he  would  shelter  a 
priest.     Search  the  house  I  say. 

'  There  was  an  old  prophecy  found  in  a  bog, 
Lillibullero,  bullen  ala,  (Sec.,  &c.'  " 


IV ILLY  RE  ILLY.  339 

The  house  was  accordingly  searched,  but  it  is  unnecessary 
to  add  that  neither  priest  nor  friar  was  found  under  the 
roof,  nor  any  nook  or  corner  in  which  either  one  or  the 
other  could  have  been  concealed. 

The  party,  who  then  directed  their  steps  homewards,  were 
proceeding  across  the  fields  to  the  mountain  road  which  ran 
close  by,  and  parallel  with  the  stripe,  when  they  perceived 
at  once  that  Smellpriest  was  in  a  rage,  by  the  fact  of  his 
singing  "  Lillibullero  ;"  for,  whenever  either  his  rage  or  loy- 
alty happened  to  run  high,  he  uniformly  made  a  point  to  in- 
dulge himself  in  singing  that  celebrated  ballad. 

"  By  jabers,"  said  one  of  them  to  his  companions, 
"  there  will  be  a  battle  royal  between  the  captain  and  Mr. 
Strong  if  he  finds  the  parson  at  home  before  him." 

"  If  there  won't  be  a  fight  with  the  parson,  there  will 
with  the  wife,"  replied  the  other.  "Hang  the  same  par- 
son," he  added;  "many  a  dreary  chase  he  has  sent  us 
upon,  with  nothing  but  the  fatigue  of  a  dark  and  slavish 
journey  for  our  pains.  With  what  bitterness  he's  giving  us 
'  Lillibullero,'  and  he  scarcely  able  to  sit  on  his  horse  !  I 
think  I'll  advance,  and  ride  beside  him,  otherwise  he  may 
get  an  ugly  tumble  on  this  hard  road." 

He  accordingly  did  so,  observing,  as  he  got  near  him, 
"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  ride  close  beside  you,  lest,  as 
the  night  is  dark,  your  horse  might  stumble." 

"What  !  do  you  think  I'm  drunk,  you  scoundrel  ? — fall 
back,  sir,  immediately. 

"  '  Lillibullero,  bullen  ala.' 

"  I  say  I'm  not  drunk  ;  but  I'm  in  a  terrible  passion  at  that 
treacherous  scoundrel  ;  but  no  matter,  I  saw  something  to- 
night— never  mind,  I  say. 

"  '  There  was  an  old  prophecy  found  in  a  bog, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala  ; 
That  Ireland  should  be  ruled  by  an  Ass  and  a  Dog, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala. 
And  now  that  same  prophecy  has  come  to  pass — 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala  ; 
For  Talbot's  the  Dog,  and  James  is  the  Ass, 

Lillibullero,  bullen  ala.' 

"  Never  mind,  I  say  ;  hang  me,  but  I'll  crop  the  villain,  or 
crop  both,  which  is  better  still — steady,  Schomberg — curse 
you." 


34°  WILLY  K LILLY. 

The  same  rut  or  chasm  across  the  more  open  road  on 
which  they  had  now  got  out,  and  that  had  nearly  been  so  fatal 
to  Mr.  Brown,  became  decidedly  so  to  unfortunate  Smell- 
priest.  The  horse,  as  his  rider  spoke,  stopped  suddenly, 
and,  shying  quickly  to  the  one  side,  the  captain  was  pitched 
off,  and  fell  with  his  whole  weight  upon  the  hard  pavement. 
The  man  was  an  unwieldy,  and  consequently  a  heavy 
man,  and  the  unexpected  fall  stunned  him  into  insensibility. 
After  about  ten  minutes  or  so  he  recovered  his  conscious- 
ness, however,  and  having  been  once  more  placed  upon  his 
horse,  was  conducted  home,  two  or  three  of  his  men,  with 
much  difficulty,  enabling  him  to  maintain  his  seat  in  the 
saddle.  In  this  manner  they  reached  his  house,  where  they 
stripped  and  put  him  to  bed,  having  observed,  to  their  con- 
sternation, that  strong  gushes  of  blood  welled,  every  three 
or  four  minutes,  from  his  mouth. 

The  grief  of  his  faithful  wife  was  outrageous  ;  and  Mr. 
Strong,  who  was  still  there  kindly  awaiting  his  safe  re- 
turn, endeavored  to  compose  her  distraction  as  well  as  he 
could. 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  he,  "  why  will  you  thus  permit 
your  grief  to  overcome  you  ?  You  will  most  assuredly  injure 
your  own  precious  health  by  this  dangerous  outburst  of 
sorrow.  The  zealous  and  truly  loyal  captain  is  not,  I  trust, 
seriously  injured  ;  he  will  recover,  under  God,  in  a  few 
days.  You  may  rest  assured,  my  dear  Mrs.  Smellpriest, 
that  his  life  is  too  valuable  to  be  taken  at  this  unhappy  pe- 
riod. No,  he  will,  I  trust  and  hope,  be  spared  until  a 
strong  anti-Popish  Government  shall  come  in,  when,  if  he 
is  to  lose  it,  he  will  lose  it  in  some  great  and  godly  exploit 
against  the  harlot  of  abominations." 

"  Alas  !  my  dear  Mr.  Strong,  that  is  all  very  kind  of  you, 
to  support  my  breaking  heart  with  such  comfort  ;  but,  when 
lie  is  gone,  what  will  become  of  me  ?" 

11  You  will  not  be  left  desolate,  my  dear  madam — you  will 
be  supported — cheered — consoled.  Captain,  my  friend, how 
do  you  feel  now  ?     Are  you  easier  ?" 

"  I  am,"  replied  the  captain  feebly — for  he  had  not  lost 
his  speech — "  come  near  me,  Strong." 

"  With  pleasure,  dear  captain,  as  becomes  my  duty, 
not  only  as  a  friend,  but  as  an  humble  and  unworthy  min- 
ister of  religion.     I  trust  you  are  not  in  danger,  but,  under 


WILLY  REILLY.  341 

any  circumstances,  it  is  best,  you  know,  to  be  prepared  tor 
the  worst.  Do  not  then  be  cast  down,  nor  allow  your  heart 
to  sink  into  despair.  Remember  that  you  have  acted  the 
part  of  a  zealous  and  faithful  champion  on  behalf  of  our 
holy  Church,  and  that  you  have  been  a  blessed  scourge  of 
ropery  in  this  Pope-ridden  country.  Let  that  reflection, 
then,  be  your  consolation.  Think  of  the  many  priests  you 
have  hunted — and  hunted  successfully  too  ;  think  of  how 
many  bitter  Papists  of  every  class  you  have  been  the 
blessed  means  of  committing  to  the  justice  of  our  laws  ; 
think  of  the  numbers  of  Popish  priests  and  bishops  you 
have,  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  your  pious  duty,  committed 
to  chains,  imprisonment,  transportation,  and  the  scaffold — 
think  of  all  these  things,  I  say,  and  take  comfort  to  your 
soul  by  the  retrospect.  Would  you  wish  to  receive  the  rites 
and  consolations  of  religion  at  my  hands  ?" 

11  Come  near  me,  Strong,"  repeated  Smellpriest.  "  The 
rites  of  religion  from  you — the  rights  of  perdition  as  soon, 
you  hypocritical  scoundrel  ;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  caught  a 
gush  of  blood  as  it  issued  from  his  mouth  and  flung  it  with 
all  the  strength  he  had  left  right  into  the  clergyman's  face. 
"■  Take  that,  you  villain,"  he  added  ;  "  I  die  in  every  sense 
with  my  blood  upon  you.  And  as  for  my  hunting  of  priests 
and  Papists,  it  is  the  only  thing  that  lies  at  this  moment 
heavy  over  my  heart.  And  as  for  that  wife  of  mine,  I'm 
sorry  she's  not  in  my  place.  I  know,  of  course,  I'll  be 
damned  ;  but  it  can  't  be  helped  now.  If  I  go  down,  as 
down  I  will  go,  won't  I  have  plenty  of  friends  to  keep  me 
in  countenance.  I  know — I  feel  I'm  dying  ;  but  I  must 
take  the  consequences.  In  the  meantime,  my  best  word 
and  wish  is,  that  that  vile  jade  shan't  be  permitted  to  ap- 
proach or  touch  my  body  after  I  am  dead.  My  curse  upon 
you  both  !  for  you  brought  me  to  this  untimely  death  be- 
tween you." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Smellpriest — "  exclaimed  the  wife. 

"  Don't  call  me  Smellpriest,"  he  replied,  interrupting  her  ; 
"  my  name  is  Norbury.  But  it  doesn't  matter — it's  all  up 
with  me,  and  I  know  it  will  soon  be  all  down  with  me  ;  for 
down,  down  I'll  go.  Strong,  you  hypocritical  scoundrel, 
don't  be  a  persecutor  :  look  at  me  on  the  very  brink  of  per- 
dition for  it.  And  now  the  only  comfort  I  have  is,  that  I 
let  the  poor  Popish  bishop  off.     I  could  not  shoot  him,  or 


342  WILLY  REILLY. 

at  any  rate  make  a  prisoner  of  him,  and  he  engaged  in  the 
worship  of  God." 

"Alas!"  whispered  Strong,  "the  poor  man  is  verging 
on  rank  Popery — he  is  hopeless." 

"  But,  Tom,  dear,"  said  the  wife,  "  why  are  you  dis- 
pleased with  me,  your  own  faithful  partner  ?  I  that  was  so 
loving  and  affectionate  to  you  ?  I  that  urged  you  on  in  the 
path  of  duty  ?  I  that  scoured  your  arms  and  regimentals 
with  my  own  hands — that  mixed  you  your  punch  before  you 
went  after  the  black  game,  as  you  used  to  say,  and,  again, 
had  it  ready  for  you  when  you  returned  to  precious  Mr. 
Strong  and  me  after  a  long  hunt.  Don't  die  in  anger  with 
your  own  Grizzey,  as  you  used  to  call  me,  my  dear  Tom, 
or,  if  you  do,  I  feel  that  I  won't  long  survive  you.  " 

"  Ah  !  you  jade,"  replied  Tom,  "  didn't  I  see  the  wink 
between  you  to-night,  although  you  thought  I  was  drunk  ? 
Ah,  these  wild-goose  chases  !" 

"  Tom,  dear,  we  are  both  innocent.  Oh,  forgive  your 
own  Grizzey  !" 

"  So  I  do,  you  jade — my  curse  on  you  both." 

Whether  it  was  the  effort  necessary  to  speak,  in  addition  to 
the  excitement  occasioned  by  his  suspicions,  and  whether 
these  suspicions  were  well  founded  or  not,  we  do  not  presume 
to  say  ;  but  the  fact  was,  that,  after  another  outgulp  of  blood 
had  come  up,  he  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh,  his  under-jawfell, 
and  the  wretched,  half-penitent  Captain  Smellpriest  breathed 
his  last.  After  which  his  wife,  whether  from  sorrow  or  re- 
morse, became  insensible,  and  remained  in  that  state  for  a 
considerable  time  ;  but  at  length  she  recovered,  and,  after 
expressing  the  most  violent  sorrow,  literally  drove  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Strong  out  of  the  house,  with  many  deep  and  bitter 
curses.     But  to  return  : 

In  a  few  minutes  the  parties  dispersed,  and  Folliard,  too 
much  absorbed  in  the  fates  of  Reilly  and  Whitecraft,  pre- 
pared to  ride  to  Sligo,  to  ascertain  if  any  thing  could  be 
done  for  the  baronet.  In  the  meantime,  while  he  and  his 
old  friend  Cummiskey  are  on  their  way  to  see  that  gentle- 
man, we  will  ask  the  attention  of  our  readers  to  the  state  of 
Helen's  mind,  as  it  was  affected  by  the  distressing  events 
which  had  so  rapidly  and  recently  occurred.  We  need  not 
assure  them  that  deep  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  her  unfortunate 
lover  lay  upon  her  heart  like  the  gloom  of  death  itself.     His 


WILLY  REILLY.  343 

image  and  his  natural  nobility  of  character,  but,  above  all, 
the  purity  and  delicacy  of  his  love  for  herself  ;  his  manly 
and  faithful  attachment  to  his  religion,  under  temptations 
which  few  hearts  could  resist — temptations  of  which  she 
herself  was,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  most  trying  and  the 
most  difficult  to  be  withstood  ;  his  refusal  to  leave  the  coun- 
try on  her  account,  even  when  the  bloodhounds  of  the  law 
were  pursuing  him  to  his  death  in  every  direction  ;  and  the 
reflection  that  this  resolution  of  abiding  by  her,  and  watching 
over  her  welfare  and  happiness,  and  guarding  her,  as  far  as 
he  could,  from  domestic  persecution — all  these  reflections, 
in  short,  crowded  upon  her  mind  with  such  fearful  force 
that  her  reason  began  to  totter,  and  she  felt  apprehensive 
that  she  might  not  be  able  to  bear  the  trial  which  Reilly's 
position  now  placed  before  her  in  the  most  hideous  colors. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  was  Whitecraft,  a  man  certainly 
who  had  committed  many  crimes  and  murders  and  burn- 
ings, often,  but  not  always,  upon  his  own  responsibility  ;  a 
man  who,  she  knew,  entertained  no  manly  or  tender  affec- 
tion for  her  ;  he  too  about  to  meet  a  violent  death  !  That 
she  detested  him  with  an  abhorrence  as  deep  as  ever  woman 
entertained  against  man  was  true  ;  yet  she  was  a  woman, 
and  this  unhappy  fate  that  impended  over  him  was  not  ex- 
cluded out  of  the  code  of  her  heart's  humanity.  She  wished 
him  also  to  be  saved,  if  only  that  he  might  withdraw  from 
Ireland  and  repent  of  his  crimes.  Altogether  she  was  in  a 
state  bordering  on  frenzy  and  despair,  and  was  often  inca- 
pable of  continuing  a  sustained  conversation. 

When  Whitecraft  reached  the  jail  in  his  carriage,  attend- 
ed by  a  guard  of  troopers,  the  jailer  knew  not  what  to  make 
of  it  ;  but  seeing  the  carriage,  which,  after  a  glance  or  two, 
he  immediately  recognized  as. that  of  the  well-known  grand 
juror,  he  came  out,  with  hat  in  hand,  bowing  most  obsequi- 
ously. 

"  I  hope  your  honor's  well  ;  you  are  coming  to  inspect 
the  prisoners,  I  suppose  ?  Always  active  on  behalf  of 
Church  and  State,  Sir  Robert." 

11  Come,  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  one  of  the  consta- 
bles, "  get  on  with  no  nonsense.  You're  a  mighty  Church 
and  State  man  now  ;  but  I  remember  when  there  was  as 
rank  a  rebel  under  your  coat  as  ever  thumped  a  craw.  Sir 
Robert,  sir,  is  here  as  our  prisoner,  and  will  soon  be  yours, 


3H  WILLY  REILLY. 

for  murder  and  arson,  and  God  knows  what  besides.  Be 
pleased  to  walk  into  the  hatch,  Sir  Robert,  and  there  we 
surrender  you  to  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  who  will  treat  you 
well  if  you  pay  him  well." 

They  then  entered  the  hatch.  The  constable  produced  the 
mittimus  and  the  baronet's  person  both  together,  after  which 
they  withdrew,  having  failed  to  get  the  price  of  a  glass  from 
the  baronet  as  a  reward  for  their  civility. 

Such  scenes  have  been  described  a  hundred  times,  and 
we  consequently  shall  not  delay  our  readers  upon  this.  The 
baronet,  indeed,  imagined  that  from  his  rank  and  influence 
the  jailer  might  be  induced  to  give  him  comfortable  apart- 
ments. He  was  in,  however,  for  two  capital  felonies,  and 
the  jailer,  who  was  acquainted  with  the  turn  that  public 
affairs  had  taken,  told  him  that  upon  his  soul  and  conscience 
if  the  matter  lay  with  him  he  would  not  put  his  honor  among 
the  felons  ;  but  then  he  had  no  discretion,  because  it  was 
as  much  as  his  place  was  worth  to  break  the  rules — a  thing 
he  couldn't  think  of  doing  as  an  honest  man  and  an  upright 
officer. 

11  But  whatever  I  can  do  for  you,  Sir  Robert,  I'll  do." 
"  You  will  let  me  have  pen  and  ink,  won't  you  ?" 
"  Well,  let  me  see.     Yes,  I  will,  Sir  Robert  ;  I'll  stretch 
that  far  for  the  sake  of  ould  times." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    SQUIRE    COMFORTS    WHITECRAFT     IN     HIS     AFFLICTION. 

THE  old  squire  and  Cummiskey  lost  little  time  in  getting 
over  the  ground  to  the  town  of  Sligo,  and,  in  order  to 
reach  it  the  more  quickly,  they  took  a  short  cut  by  the  old 
road  which  we  have  described  at  the  beginning  of  this  nar- 
rative. On  arriving  at  that  part  of  it  from  which  they  could 
view  the  spot  where  Reilly  rescued  them  from  the  murderous 
violence  of  the  Red  Rapparee,  Cummiskey  pointed  to  it. 

11  Does  your  honor  remember  that  place,  where  you  see 
the  ould  buildin'?" 


Mi;    ROBERT   WHITECRAFT    IN   PRISON. 


WILL  Y  RE  ILL  Y.  345 

11  Yes,  I  think  so.  Is  not  that  the  place  where  the  cursed 
Rapparee  attacked  us  ?" 

"  It  is,  sir  ■  and  where  poor  Reilly  saved  both  our  lives  ; 
and  yet  your  honor's  goin'  to  hang  him." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it,  you  old  blockhead.  It  was 
all  a  plan  got  up  by  Reilly  and  the  Rapparee  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  introduced  to  my  daughter,  for  his  own  base  and 
selfish  purposes.  Yes,  I'll  hang  him  certainly — no  doubt  of 
that." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Cummiskey,  "  it's  one  comfort  that 
he  won't  hang  by  himself." 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  "  he  and  the  Rapparee  will  stretch 
the  same  rope." 

"  The  Rapparee  !  faith,  sir,  he'll  have  worse  company." 

'■  What  do  you  mean,  sirra  ?" 

11  Why,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  sir  ;  he  always  had  gallows 
written  in  his  face  ;  but,  upon  my  soul,  he'll  soon  have  it 
about  his  neck,  please  God." 

11  Faith,  I'm  afraid  you  are  not  far  from  the  truth,  Cum- 
miskey," replied  his  master;  "however,  I  am  going  to 
make  arrangements  with  him,  to  see  what  can  be  done  for 
the  unfortunate  man." 

11  If  you'll  take  my  advice,  sir,  you'll  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him.  Keep  your  hand  out  o'  the  pot  ;  there's  no  man 
can  skim  boiling  lead  with  his  hand  and  not  burn  his  fingers 
— but  a  tinker." 

11  Don't  be  saucy,  you  old  dog  ;  but  ride  on,  for  I  must 
put  Black  Tom  to  his  speed." 

On  arriving  at  the  prison,  the  squire  found  Sir  Robert 
pent  up  in  a  miserable  cell,  with  a  table  screwed  to  the 
floor,  a  pallet  bed,  and  a  deal  form.  Perhaps  his  comfort 
might  have  been  improved  through  the  medium  of  his 
purse,  were  it  not  that  the  Prison  Board  had  held  a  meeting 
that  very  day,  subsequent  to  his  committal,  in  which,  with 
some  dissentients,  they  considered  it  their  duty  to  warn  the 
jailer  against  granting  him  any  indulgence  beyond  what  he 
was  entitled  to  as  a  felon,  and  this  under  pain  of  their 
earnest  displeasure. 

When  the  squire  entered  he  found  the  melancholy  baro- 
net and  priest-hunter  sitting  upon  the  hard  form,  his  head 
hanging  down  upon  his  breast,  or,  indeed,  we  might  say 
much  farther  ;  for,  in  consequence  of  the  almost  unnatural 


346  WILLY  REJLLY. 

length  of  his  neck,  it  appeared  on  that  occasion  to  be  grow- 
ing out  of  the  middle  of  his  body,  or  of  that  fleshless  verte- 
bral column  which  passed  for  one. 

"Well,  baronet,"  exclaimed  Folliard  pretty  loudly, 
"  here's  an  exchange  !  from  the  altar  to  the  halter  ;  from 
the  matrimonial  noose  to  honest  Jack  Ketch's — and  a  devil- 
ish good  escape  it  would  be  to  many  unfortunate  wretches 
in  this  same  world." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  "  is  not  this  mis- 
erable ?    What  will  become  of  me  ?" 

"  Now,  I  tell  you  what,  Whitecraft,  I  am  come  to  speak 
to  you  upon  your  position  ;  but  before  I  go  farther,  let  me 
say  a  word  or  two  to  make  you  repent,  if  possible,  for  what 
you  have  done  to  others." 

11  For  what  I  have  done,  Mr.  Folliard  !  why  should  I  not 
repent,  when  I  find  I  am  to  be  hanged  for  it  ?" 

11  Oh,  hanged  you  will  be,  there  is  no  doubt  of  that  ;  but 
now  consider  a  little  ;  here  you  are  with  a  brown  loaf,  and 
— is  that  water  in  the  jug  ?" 

"  It  is." 

11  Very  well  ;  here  you  are,  hard  and  fast — you  who  were 
accustomed  to  luxuries,  to  the  richest  meats,  and  the  richest 
wines — here  you  are  with  a  brown  loaf,  a  jug  of  water,  and 
the  gallows  before  you  !  However,  if  you  wish  to  repent 
truly  and  sincerely,  reflect  upon  the  numbers  that  you  and 
your  bloodhounds  have  consigned  to  places  like  this,  and 
sent  from  this  to  the  gibbet,  while  you  were  rioting  in  luxury 
and  triumph.  Good  God,  sir,  hold  up  your  head,  and  be  a 
man.  What  if  you  are  hanged  ?  Many  a  better  man  was. 
Hold  up  your  head,  I  say." 

"  I  can't,  my  dear  Folliard  ;  it  won't  stay  up  for  me." 

"  Egad  !  and  you'll  soon  get  a  receipt  for  holding  it  up. 
Why  the  mischief  can't  you  have  spunk  ?" 

"  Spunk  ;  how  the  deuce  could  you  expect  spunk  from 
any  man  in  my  condition  ?  It  is  difficult  to  understand  you, 
Mr.  Folliard  ;  you  told  me  a  minute  ago  to  repent,  and  now 
you  tell  me  to  have  spunk  ;  pray  what  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

"  Why,  confound  it,  I  mean  that  you  should  repent  with 
spunk.  However,  let  us  come  to  more  important  matters  ; 
what  can  be  done  for  you  ?" 

"  I  know  not  ;  I  am  incapable  of  thinking  on  any  thing 


WILLY  REILLY.  ZAl 

but  that  damned  gallows  without  ;  yet  I  should  wish  to  make 
my  will." 

"  Your  will  !  Why,  I  think  you  have  lost  your  senses  ; 
don't  you  know  that  when  you're  hanged  every  shilling 
and  acre  you  are  possessed  of  will  be  forfeited  to  the 
crown  ?" 

11  True,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  had  forgotten  that.  Could 
Hastings  be  induced  to  decline  prosecuting  ?" 

"  What  !  to  compromise  a  felony,  and  be  transported 
himself.  Thank  you  for  nothing  baronet  ;  that's  rather  a 
blue  look  up.  No,  our  only  plan  is  to  try  and  influence  the 
grand  jury  to  throw  out  the  bills  ;  but  then,  again,  there 
are  indictments  against  you  to  no  end.  Hastings'  case  is 
only  a  single  one,  and,  even  if  he  failed,  it  would  not  better 
your  condition  a  whit.  Under  the  late  Administration  we 
could  have  saved  you  by  getting  a  packed  jury  ;  but  that's 
out  of  the  question  now.  All  we  can  do,  I  think,  is  to  get 
up  a  memorial  strongly  signed,  supplicating  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant to  commute  your  sentence  from  hanging  to  transpor- 
tation for  life.  I  must  confess,  however,  there  is  little  hope 
even  there.  They  will  come  down  with  their  cursed  reason- 
ing and  tell  us  that  the  rank  and  education  of  the  offender 
only  aggravate  the  offence  ;  and  that,  if  they  allow  a  man 
so  convicted  to  escape,  in  consequence  of  his  high  position 
in  life,  every  humble  man  found  guilty  and  executed  for  the 
same  crime — is  murdered.  They  will  tell  us  it  would  be  a 
prostitution  of  the  prerogative  of  the  Crown  to  connive  at 
crime  in  the  rich  and  punish  it  in  the  poor.  And,  again, 
there's  the  devil  of  it  ;  your  beggarly  want  of  hospitality  in 
the  first  place,  and  the  cursed  swaggering  severity  with  which 
you  carried  out  your  loyalty,  by  making  unexpected  domi- 
ciliary visits  to  the  houses  of  loyal  but  humane  Protestant 
families,  with  the  expectation  of  finding  a  priest  or  a  Papist 
under  their  protection  :  both  these,  I  say,  have  made  you  the 
most  unpopular  man  in  the  county  ;  and,  upon  my  soul,  Sir 
Robert,  I  don't  think  there  will  be  a  man  upon  the  grand 
jury  whose  family  you  have  not  insulted  by  your  inveterate 
loyalty.  No  one,  I  tell  you,  likes  a  persecutor.  Still,  I  say, 
I'll  try  what  I  can  do  with  the  grand  jury.  I'll  see  my 
friends  and  yours — if  you  have  any  now,  make  out  a  list  of 
them  in  a  day  or  two — and  you  may  rest  assured  that  I  will 
leave  nothing  undone  to  extricate  you." 


34s  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  but  do  you  know  why\  am 
here?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do." 

"  No,  you  don't,  sir.  William  Reilly,  the  Jesuit  and 
Papist,  is  the  cause  of  it,  and  will  be  the  cause  of  my  utter 
ruin  and  ignominious  death." 

"  How  is  that  ?  Make  that  plain  to  me  ;  only  make  that 
plain  to  me." 

"  He  is  the  bosom  friend  of  Hastings,  and  can  sway  him 
and  move  him  and  manage  him  as  a  father  would  his  child, 
or,  rather,  as  a  child  would  a  doting  father.  Reilly,  sir,  is  at 
the  bottom  of  this,  his  great  object  always  having  been  to 
prevent  a  marriage  between  me  and  your  beautiful  daughter  ; 
I,  who,  after  all,  have  done  so  much  for  Protestantism,  am 
the  victim  of  that  Jesuit  and  Papist." 

This  vindictive  suggestion  took  at  once,  and  the  impetuous 
old  squire  started  as  if  a  new  light  had  been  let  in  upon  his 
mind.  We  call  him  impetuous,  because,  if  he  had  reflected 
only  for  a  moment  upon  the  diabolical  persecution,  both  in 
person  and  property,  which  Reilly  had  sustained  at  the  baro- 
net's hands,  he  ought  not  to  have  blamed  him  had  he  shot 
the  scoundrel  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  most  rabid  dogs 
that  ever  ran  frothing  across  a  country.  We  say  the  sug- 
gestion, poisoned  as  it  was  by  the  most  specious  falsehood, 
failed  not  to  accomplish  the  villain's  object. 

Folliard  grasped  him  by  the  hand.  "  Never  mind,"  said 
he  ;  *'  keep  yourself  quiet,  and  leave  Reilly  to  me  ;  I  have 
him,  that's  enough." 

"  No,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  it  is  not  enough,  because  I 
know  what  will  happen  :  Miss  Folliard's  influence  over  you 
is  a  proverb  ;  now  she  will  cajole  and  flatter  and  beguile 
you  until  she  prevails  upon  you  to  let  the  treacherous  Jesuit 
slip  through  your  fingers,  and  then  he  will  get  off  to  the 
Continent,  and  laugh  at  you  all,  after  having  taken  her  with 
him  ;  for  there  is  nothing  more  certain,  if  he  escapes  death 
through  your  indulgence,  than  that  you  will,  in  the  course 
of  a  few  years,  find  yourself  grandfather  to  a  brood  of  young 
Papists  ;  and  when  I  say  Papists,  need  I  add  rebels  ?" 

11  Come,"  replied  the  hot-headed  old  man,  "  don't  insult 
me  ;  I  am  master  of  my  own  house,  and,  well  as  I  love  my 
daughter,  I  would  not  for  a  moment  suffer  her  to  interfere 
in  a  public  matter  of  this  or  any  other  kind.     Now  good- 


WILLY  REILLY.  349 

by  ;  keep  your  spirits  up,  and  if  you  are  to  die,  why  die 
like  a  man." 

They  then  separated  ;  and  as  Folliard  was  passing  through 
the  hatch,  he  called  the  jailer  into  his  own  office,  and  strove 
to  prevail  upon  him,  not  ineffectually,  to  smuggle  in  some 
wine  and  other  comforts  to  the  baronet.  The  man  told  him 
that  he  would  with  pleasure  do  so  if  he  dared  ;  but  that  the 
caution  against  it  which  he  had  got  that  very  day  from  the 
Board  rendered  the  thing  impossible.  Ere  the  squire  left 
him,  however,  his  scruples  were  overcome,  and  the  baronet, 
before  he  went  to  bed  that  night,  had  a  roast  duck  for  sup- 
per, with  two  bottles  of  excellent  claret  to  wash  it  down  and 
lull  his  conscience  into  slumber. 

11  Confound  it,"  the  squire  soliloquized,  on  their  way 
home,  "  I  am  as  stupid  as  Whitecraft  himself,  who  was 
never  stupid  until  now  ;  there  have  I  been  with  him  in  that 
cursed  dungeon,  and  neither  of  us  ever  thought  of  taking 
measures  for  his  defence.  Why,  he  must  have  the  best  law- 
yers at  the  Bar,  and  fee  them  like  princes.  Gad  !  I  have  a 
great  notion  to  ride  back  and  speak  to  him  on  the  subject  : 
he's  in  such  a  confounded  trepidation  about  his  life  that  he 
can  think  of  nothing  else.  No  matter,  I  shall  write  to  him 
by  a  special  messenger  early  in  the  morning.  It  would  be  a 
cursed  slap  in  the  face  to  have  one  of  our  leading  men 
hanged — only,  after  all,  for  carrying  out  the  wishes  of  an 
anti-Papist  Government,  who  connived  at  his  conduct,  and 
encouraged  him  in  it.  I  know  he  expected  a  coronet,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  but  he'd  have  got  one  had  his  party  remained 
in  ;  but  now  all  the  unfortunate  devil  is  likely  to  get  is  a 
rope — and  be  hanged  to  them  !  However,  as  to  my  own 
case  about  Reilly — I  must  secure  a  strong  bar  against  him  ; 
and  if  we  can  only  prevail  upon  Helen  to  state  the  facts  as 
they  occurred,  there  is  little  doubt  that  he  shall  suffer  ;  for 
hang  he  must,  in  consequence  of  the  disgrace  he  has  brought 
upon  my  daughter's  name  and  mine.  Whatever  I  might 
have  forgiven,  I  will  never  forgive  him  that." 

He  then  rode  on  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  did  not  slacken  his 
speed  until  he  reached  home.  Dinner  was  ready,  and  he 
sat  down  with  none  but  Helen,  who  could  scarcely  touch  a 
morsel.  Her  father  saw  at  once  the  state  of  her  mind,  and 
felt  that  it  would  be  injudicious  to  introduce  any  subject 
that  might  be    calculated  to  excite  her.     They  accordingly 


35°  WILL  Y  RELLL  Y. 

talked,  upon  commonplace  topics,  and  each  assumed  as 
much  cheerfulness  and  more  than  they  could  command.  It 
was  a  miserable  sight,  when  properly  understood,  to  see  the 
father  and  daughter  forced,  by  the  painful  peculiarity  of 
their  circumstances,  thus  to  conceal  their  natural  sentiments 
from  each  other.  Love,  however,  is  often  a  disturber  of 
families,  as  in  the  case  of  Reilly  and  Coolcen  Bawn  ;  and  so 
is  an  avaricious  ambition,  when  united  to  a  selfish  and  a 
sensual  attachment,  as  in  the  case  of  Whitecraft. 

It  is  unnecessary  now,  and  it  would  be  only  tedious,  to 
dwell  upon  the  energetic  preparations  that  were  made  for 
the  three  approaching  trials.  Public  rumor  had  taken  them 
up  and  sent  them  abroad  throughout  the  greater  portion  of 
the  kingdom.  The  three  culprits  were  notorious — Sir  Rob- 
ert Whitecraft,  the  priest-hunter  and  persecutor  ;  the  noto- 
rious Red  Rapparee,  whose  exploits  had  been  commemo- 
rated in  a  thousand  ballads;  and  "Willy  Reilly,"  whose 
love  for  the  far-famed  Cooleen  Bawn,  together  with  her  un- 
conquerable passion  for  him,  had  been  known  throughout 
the  empire.  In  fact,  the  interest  which  the  public  felt  in 
the  result  of  the  approaching  trials  was  intense,  not  only  in 
Ireland,  but  throughout  England  and  Scotland,  were  the 
circumstances  connected  with  them  were  borne  on  the  wings 
of  the  press.  Love,  however,  especially  the  romance  of  it 
— and  here  were  not  only  romance  but  reality  enough — love, 
we  say,  overcomes  all  collateral  interests — and  the  history  of 
the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and  his  "  dear  Cooleen  Bawn11  even 
then  touched  the  hearts  of  thousands,  and  moistened  many  a 
young  eye  for  his  calamities  and  early  fate,  and  the  sorrows 
of  his  Cooleen  Bawn. 

Helen's  father,  inspired  by  the  devilish  suggestions  of 
Whitecraft,  now  kept  aloof  from  her  as  much  as  he  could 
with  decency  do.  He  knew  his  own  weakness,  and  felt 
that  if  he  suffered  her  to  gain  that  portion  of  his  society  to 
which  she  had  been  accustomed,  his  resolution  might  break 
down,  and  the  very  result  prognosticated  by  Whitecraft 
might  be  brought  about.  Indeed  his  time  was  so  little  his 
own,  between  his  activity  in  defence  of  that  villain  and  his 
energetic  operations  for  the  prosecution  of  Reilly,  that  he 
had  not  much  to  spare  her,  except  at  meals.  It  was  not, 
however,  through  himself  that  he  wished  to  win  her  over  to 
prosecute  Reilly.     No  ;  he  felt  his  difficulty,  and  knew  that 


WILL  Y  REILL  Y.  35 1 

he  could  not  attempt  to  influence  her  with  a  good  grace,  or 
any  force  of  argument.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to  set  his 
attorney  to  work,  who,  as  he  understood  all  the  quirks  and 
intricacy  of  the  law,  might  be  able  to  puzzle  her  into  com- 
pliance. This  gentleman,  however,  who  possessed  at  once 
a  rapacious  heart  and  a  stupid  head,  might  have  fleeced  half 
the  country  had  the  one  been  upon  a  par  with  the  other. 
He  was,  besides,  in  his  own  estimation,  a  lady-killer,  and 
knew  not  how  these  interviews  with  the  fair  Cooleen  Bawn 
might  end.  He,  at  all  events,  was  a  sound  Protestant,  and 
if  it  were  often  said  that  you  might  as  well  ask  a  Highlander 
for  a  knee-buckle  as  an  attorney  for  religion,  he  could  con- 
scientiously fall  back  upon  the  fact  that  political  Protestant- 
ism and  religion  were  very  different  things — for  an  attorney. 

Instructed  by  Folliard,  he  accordingly  waited  upon  her 
professionally,  in  her  father's  study,  during  his  absence,  and 
opened  his  case  as  follows  : 

"  I  have  called  upon  you,  Miss  Folliard,  by  the  direction 
of  your  father,  professionally,  and  indeed  I  thank  my  stars 
that  any  professional  business  should  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  admiring  so  far-famed  a  beauty." 

"  Are  you  not  Mr.  Doldrum,"  she  asked,  "  the  celebrated 
attorney  ?" 

11  Doldrum  is  certainly  my  name,  my  lovely  client." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Doldrum,  I  think  I  have  heard  of  you  ;  but 
permit  me  to  say  that  before  you  make  love,  as  you  seem 
about  to  do,  I  think  it  better  you  should  mention  your  pro- 
fessional business. 

"  It  is  very  simple,  Miss  Folliard  ;  just  to  know  whether 
you  have  any  objection  to  appear  as  an  evidence  against — 
he-hem — against  Mr.  Reilly. " 

11  Oh,  then  your  business  and  time  with  me  will  be  very 
brief,  Mr.  Doldrum.  It  is  my  intention  to  see  justice  done, 
and  for  that  purpose  I  shall  attend  the  trial,  and  if  I  find 
that  my  evidence  will  be  necessary,  I  assure  you  I  shall  give 
it.     But,  Mr.  Doldrum,  one  word  with  you  before  you  go." 

11  A  hundred — a  thousand,  my  dear  lady." 

"  It  is  this  :  I  beg  as  a  personal  favor  that  you  will  use 
your  great  influence  with  my  father  to  prevent  him  from 
talking  to  me  on  this  subject  until  the  day  of  trial  comes. 
By  being  kind  enough  to  do  this  you  will  save  me  from 
much  anxiety  and  annoyance." 


35-  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

"  I  pledge  you  my  honor,  madam,  that  your  wishes  shall 
be  complied  with  to  the  letter,  as  far,  at  least,  as  any  influ- 
ence of  mine  can  accomplish  them." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I  wish  you  a  good-morning." 

11  Good-morning,  madam  ;  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  you 
are  harassed  upon  this  most  painful  subject  ;  and  I  pledge 
you  my  reputation  that  I  never  contributed  to  hang  a  man 
in  my  life  with  more  regret  than  I  experience  in  this  unfor- 
tunate case." 

It  is  quite  a  common  thing  to  find  vanity  and  stupidity 
united  in  the  same  individual,  as  they  were  in  Mr.  Doldrum. 
He  was  Mr.  Folliard's  country  attorney,  and,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  strong  Protestant  politics,  was  engaged  as  the 
law  agent  of  his  property  ;  and  for  the  same  reason — that  is, 
because  he  was  a  violent,  he  was  considered  a  very  able  man. 

There  is  a  class  of  men  in  the  world  who,  when  they  once 
engage  in  a  pursuit  or  an  act  of  any  importance,  will  persist 
in  working  it  out,  rather  than  be  supposed,  by  relinquishing 
it,  when  they  discover  themselves  wrong,  to  cast  an  imputa- 
tion on  their  own  judgments.  To  such  a  class  belonged  Mr. 
Folliard,  who  never,  in  point  of  fact,  acted  upon  any  fixed 
or  distinct  principle  whatsoever  ;  yet  if  he  once  took  a  mat- 
ter into  his  head,  under  the  influence  of  caprice  or  impulse, 
no  man  could  evince  more  obstinacy  or  perseverance,  apart 
from  all  its  justice  or  moral  associations,  so  long,  at  least, 
as  that  caprice  or  impulse  lasted.  The  reader  may  have 
perceived  from  his  dialogue  with  Helen,  on  the  morning  ap- 
pointed for  her  marriage  with  Whitecraft,  that  the  worthy 
baronet,  had  he  made  his  appearance,  stood  a  strong  chance 
of  being  sent  about  his  business  as  rank  a  bachelor  as  he 
had  come.  And  yet,  because  he  was  cunning  enough  to 
make  the  hot-brained  and  credulous  old  man  believe  that 
Reilly  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  plan  for  his  destruction, 
and  Hastings  only  the  passive  agent  in  his  hands  ;  we  say, 
because  he  succeeded  in  making  this  impression,  which  he 
knew  to  be  deliberately  false,  upon  his  plastic  nature,  he, 
Folliard,  worked  himself  up  into  a  vindictive  bitterness  pe- 
culiar to  little  minds,  as  well  as  a  fixed  determination 
that  Reilly  should  die  ;  not  by  any  means  so  much  because 
he  took  away  his  daughter  as  that  his  death  might  be 
marked  in  this  conflict  of  parties  as  a  set-off  against  that 
of  Whitecraft. 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  353 

In  the  meantime  he  and  Helen   entertained  each  a  dif- 
ferent apprehension  ;  he  dreaded    that  she  might    exercise 
her_  influence   over  him  for  the  purpose  of  softening  him 
against  Reilly,  whom,  if  he  had  suffered  himself  to  analyze 
his  own  heart,  he  would  have  found  there  in  the  shape  of 
something  very  like  a  favorite.     Helen,  on  the  contrary,  knew 
that  she  was  expected  to  attend  the  trial,  in  order  to  give 
evidence  against  her  lover  ;  and  she  lived  for  a  few  days 
after  his  commital  under  the  constant  dread  that  her  father 
would  persecute  her  with  endless  arguments  to  induce  her 
attendance  at  the  assizes.     Such,  besides,  was  her  love  of 
truth  and  candor,  and  her  hatred  of  dissimulation  in  every 
shape,  that,  if  either  her  father  -or  the  attorney  had  asked 
her,  in  explicit  terms,  what  the  tendency  of  her  evidence 
was  to  be,   she  would  at  once  have  satisfied  them  that  it 
should  be  in  favor  of  her  lover.     In  the  meantime   she  felt 
that,    as  they   did   not  press  her   on  this  point,    it  would 
have  been  madness  to  volunteer  a  disclosure  of  a  matter  so 
important    to  the  vindication  of  Reilly's  conduct.     To  this 
we  may  add  her  intimate  knowledge  of  her  father's  whimsi- 
cal character  and  unsteadiness  of  purpose.     She  was  not 
ignorant  that,  even    if  he  were    absolutely  aware  that  the 
tenor  of  her  evidence  was  to  go  against  Reilly,   his  mind 
might  change  so  decidedly  as  to  call  upon  her  to  give  evi- 
dence in  his  defence.     Under  these  circumstances  she  acted 
with  singular  prudence,  in  never  alluding  to  a  topic  of  such 
difficulty,  and  which  involved  a  contingency  that  might  affect 
her  lover  in  a  double  sense. 

Her  father's  conduct,  however,  on  this  occasion,  saved 
them  both  a  vast  deal  of  trouble  and  annoyance,  and  the 
consequence  was  that  they  met  as  seldom  as  possible.  In 
addition  to  this,  we  may  state  that  Doldrum  communicated 
the  successful  result  of  his  interview  with  Miss  Folliard — her 
willingness  to  attend  the  trial  and  see  justice  done,  upon 
condition  that  she  should  not  have  the  subject  obtruded  on 
her,  either  by  her  father  or  any  one  else,  until  the  appointed 
day  should  arrive,  when  she  would  punctually  attend.  In 
this  state  were  the  relative  positions  and  feelings  of  father 
and  daughter  about  a  month  before  the  opening  of  the  as- 
sizes. 

In  the  meantime  the  squire  set  himself  to  work  for  the 
baronet.     The  ablest  lawyers  were  retained,  but  Whitecraft 


354  WILLY  RIULLY. 

most  positively  objected  to  Folliard's  proposal  of  engaging 
Doldrum  as  his  attorney  ;  he  knew  the  stupidity  and  igno- 
rance of  the  man,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  as 
the  conductor  of  his  case.  His  own  attorney,  Mr.  Sharply, 
was  engaged  ;  and  indeed  his  selection  of  a  keen  and  able 
man  such  as  he  was  did  credit  both  to  his  sagacity  and  fore- 
sight. 

Considering  the  state  of  the  country  at  that  particular  pe- 
riod, the  matter  began  to  assume  a  most  important  aspect. 
A  portion  of  the  Protestant  party,  by  which  we  mean  those 
who  had  sanctioned  all  Whitecraft's  brutal  and  murderous 
excesses,  called  every  energy  and  exertion  into  work,  in 
order  to  defeat  the  Government  and  protect  the  leading  man 
of  their  own  clique.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was  the 
Government,  firm  and  decided,  by  the  just  operation  of  the 
laws,  to  make  an  example  of  the  man  who  had  not  only 
availed  himself  of  those  laws  when  they  were  with  him,  but 
who  scrupled  not  to  set  them  aside  when  they  were  against 
him,  and  to  enforce  his  bloodthirsty  instincts  upon  his  own 
responsibility.  The  Government,  however,  were  not  with- 
out large  and  active  support  from  those  liberal  Protestants, 
who  had  been  disgusted  and  sickened  by  the  irresponsible 
outrages  of  such  persecutors  as  Whitecraft  and  Smellpriest. 
Upon  those  men  "the  new  Government  relied,  and  relied  with 
safety.  The  country  was  in  a  tumult,  the  bigoted  party 
threatened  an  insurrection  ;  and  they  did  so,  not  because 
they  felt  themselves  in  a  position  to  effect  it,  but  in  order  to 
alarm  and  intimidate  the  Government.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Catholics,  who  had  given  decided  proofs  of  their  loyalty 
by  refusing  to  join  the  Pretender,  now  expressed  their  deter- 
mination to  support  the  Government  if  an  outbreak  among 
that  section  of  the  Protestant  party  to  which  we  have  just 
alluded  should  take  place. 

But  perhaps  the  real  cause  of  the  conduct  of  Government 
might  be  traced  to  Whitecraft's  outrage  upon  a  French  sub- 
ject in    the  person  of  the  Abbe .     The  matter,  as  we 

have  stated,  was  seriously  taken  up  by  the  French  Ambassa- 
dor, in  the  name,  and  by  the  most  positive  instructions,  of 
his  Court.  The  villain  Whitecraft,  in  consequence  of  that 
wanton  and  unjustifiable  act,  went  far  to  involve  the  two 
nations  in  a  bitter  and  bloody  war.  England  was  every  day 
under  the   apprehension  of   a   French   invasion,    which,  of 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  355 

course,  she  dreaded  ;  something  must  be  done  to  satisfy  the 
French  Court.  Perhaps,  had  it  not  been  for  this,  the  gen- 
eral outrages  committed  upon  the  unfortunate  Catholics  of 
Ireland  would  never  have  become  the  subject  of  a  detailed 
investigation.  An  investigation,  however,  took  place,  by 
which  a  system  of  the  most  incredible  persecution  was  dis- 
covered, and  a  milder  administration  of  the  laws  was  found 
judicious,  in  order  to  conciliate  the  Catholic  party,  and  pre- 
vent them  from  embracing  the  cause  of  the  Pretender.  At 
all  events,  what  between  the  necessity  of  satisfying  the  claims 
of  the  French  Government,  and  in  apprehension  of  a  Cath- 
olic defection,  the  great  and  principal  criminal  was  selected 
for  punishment.  The  Irish  Government,  however,  who 
were  already  prepared  with  their  charges,  found  themselves 
already  anticipated  by  Mr.  Hastings,  a  fact  which  enabled 
them  to  lie  on  their  oars  and  await  the  result. 

Such  was  the  state  and  condition  of  affairs  as  the  assizes 
were  within  ten  days  of  opening. 

One  evening  about  this  time  the  old  squire,  who  never  re- 
mained long  in  the  same  mode  of  feeling,  sent  for  his 
daughter  to  the  dining-room,  where  he  was  engaged  at.  his 
Burgundy.  The  poor  girl  feared  that  he  was  about  to  in- 
troduce the  painful  subject  which  she  dreaded  so  much — that 
is  to  say,  the  necessity  of  giving  her  evidence  against  Reilly. 
After  some  conversation,  however,  she  was  relieved,  for  he 
did  not  allude  to  it  ;  but  he  did  to  the  fate  of  Reilly  him- 
self, the  very  subject  which  was  wringing  her  heart  with 
agony. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  Reilly's 
affair,  and  it  strikes  me  that  he  may  be  saved,  and  become 
your  husband  still  ;  because,  you  know,  that  if  Whitecraft 
was  acquitted,  now  that  he  has  been  publicly  disgraced,  I'd 
see  the  devil  picking  his  bones — and  very  hard  picking  he'd 
find  them — before  I'd  give  you  to  him  as  a  wife." 

11  Thank  you,  my  dear  papa  ;  but  let  me  ask  why  it  is 
that  you  are  so  active  in  stirring  up  his  party  to  defend  such 
a  man  ?" 

"  Foolish  girl,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  is  not  the  man,  but  the 
cause  and  the  principle,  we  defend." 

"  What,  papa,  the  cause  !  bloodshed  and  persecution  ! 
I  believe  you  to  be  possessed  of  a  humane  heart,  papa  ;  but, 
notwithstanding  his  character  and  his  crimes,  I  do  not  wish 


356  WILLY  RELLLY. 

the  unfortunate  man  to  be  struck  into  the  grave  without  re- 
pentance." 

"  Repentance,  Helen  !  How  the  deuce  could  a  man  feel 
repentance  who  does  not  believe  the  Christian  religion  ?" 

"  But  then,  sir,  has  he  not  the  reputation  of  being  a 
sound  and  leading  Protestant  ?" 

11  Oh,  hang  his  reputation  ;  it  is  not  of  him  I  wish  to 
speak  to  you,  but  Reilly." 

Helen's  heart  beat  rapidly  and  thickly,  but  she  spoke  not. 

11  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  project  in  my  head  that  I  think 
may  save  Reilly." 

"  Pray,  what  is  it,  may  I  ask,  papa  ?" 

"  No,  you  may  not  ;  but  to-morrow  I  will  give  him  an 
early  call,  and  let  you  know  how  I  succeed,  after  my  return 
to  dinner  ;  yes,  I  will  tell  you  after  dinner.  But  listen, 
Helen,  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  baronet's  friends  that  they 
will  be  able  to  save  him." 

"  I  hope  they  may,  sir  ;  I  should  not  wish  to  see  any 
fellow-creature  brought  to  an  ignominious  death  in  the  midst 
of  his  offences,  and  in  the  prime  of  life." 

"  But,  on  the  contrary,  if  he  swings,  we  are  bound  to 
sacrifice  one  of  the  Papist  party  for  him,  and  Reilly  is  the 
man.  Now  don't  look  so  pale,  Helen — don't  look  as  if 
death  was  settled  in  your  face  ;  his  fate  may  be  avoided  ; 
but  ask  me  nothing — the  project's  my  own,  and  I  will  com- 
municate it  to  no  one  until  after  I  shall  have  ascertained 
whether   I  fail  in  it  or  not." 

"  I  trust,  sir,  it  will  be  nothing  that  will  involve  him  in 
any  thing  dishonorable  ;  but  why  do  I  ask  ?  He  is  incapable 
of  that. ' ' 

11  Well,  well,  leave  the  matter  in  my  hand  ;  and  now,  upon 
the  strength  of  my  project,  I'll  take  another  bumper  of 
Burgundy,  and  drink  to  its  success." 

Helen  pleaded  some  cause  for  withdrawing,  as  she  enter- 
tained an  apprehension  that  he  might  introduce  the  topic 
which  she  most  dreaded — that  of  her  duty  to  give  evidence 
against  Reilly.  When  she  was  gone  he  began  to  ponder 
over  several  subjects  connected  with  the  principal  characters 
of  this  narrative  until  he  became  drowsy,  during  which  pe- 
riod halters,  gibbets,  gallowses,  hangmen,  and  judges  jum- 
bled each  other  alternately  through  his  fancy,  until  he  fell 
fast  asleep  in  his  easy-chair. 


WILLY  REILLY.  357 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    SQUIRE    BECOMES    THEOLOGICAL    AND    A  PROSELYTIZER, 
BUT    SIGNALLY    FAILS. 

THE  next  morning  he  and  Cummiskey  started  for  Sligo, 
and,  as  usual,  when  they  reached  the  jail  the  turn- 
key was  about  to  conduct  the  squire  to  Sir  Robert's  room, 
when  the  former  turned  and  said  : 

11  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Reilly  ;  lead  me  to  his  cell." 

11  Reilly,  sir  !"  exclaimed  the  man  in  astonishment. 
"  Are  you  sure,  sir,  it's  not  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  you 
want  ?" 

"  Are  you  sure,  sir,  that  it's  not  a  cut  of  my  whip  about 
the  ears  you  want  ?  Conduct  me  to  where  Reilly  is,  you 
rascal  ;  do  you  pretend  to  know  the  individual  I  wish  to  see 
better  than  I  do  myself  ?     Push  along,  sirra. " 

The  turnkey  accordingly  conducted  him  to  Reilly's  cell, 
which,  considerably  to  his  surprise,  was  a  much  more  com- 
fortable one  than  had  been  assigned  to  the  baronet.  When 
they  had  reached  the  corridor  in  which  it  was  situated,  Fol- 
liard  said,  "  Knock  at  the  door,  and  when  he  appears  tell 
him  that  /wish  to  see  him." 

"  I  will,  your  honor." 

"  Say  I  won't  detain  him  long." 

"  I  will,  your  honor." 

"  Hang  your  honor,  go  and  do  what  I  desire  you." 

"  I  will,  your  honor." 

Reilly's  astonishment  was  beyond  belief  on  learning  that 
his  vindictive  prosecutor  had  called  upon  him  ;  but  on  more 
mature  reflection,  and  comparing  what  had  happened  before 
with  the  only  motive  which  he  could  assign  for  such  a  visit, 
he  felt  pretty  certain  that  the  squire  came  to  revive,  in  his 
own  person,  a  subject  which  he  had  before  proposed  to  him 
through  his  daughter.  There  was  no  other  earthly  object  to 
which  he  could  attribute  his  visit  ;  but  of  course  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  receive  him  with  every  courtesy.  At  length 
Folliard  entered,  and,  before  Reilly  had  time  to  utter  a  syl- 
lable, commenced  : 

"  Reilly,"  said  he,  "  you  are  astonished  to  see  me  here  ?" 
..    "I  am,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  very  much." 


358  WILLY  R  LILLY. 

11  Yes,  I  thought  you  would  ;  and  very  few  persons,  except 
myself,  would  come  upon  such  an  errand  to  the  man  that 
has  disgraced  my  daughter,  myself,  and  my  family  ;  you 
have  stained  our  name,  sir — a  name  that  was  never  asso- 
ciated with  any  thing  but  honor  and  purity  until  you  came 
among  us." 

"  If  you  have  paid  me  this  visit,  sir,  only  for  the  purpose 
of  uttering  language  which  you  know  must  be  very  painful 
to  me,  I  would  rather  you  had  declined  to  call  upon  me  at 
all.  I  perceive  no  object  you  can  have  in  it,  unless  to 
gratify  a  feeling  of  enmity  on  your  part,  and  excite  one  of 
sorrow  on  mine.  I  say  sorrow,  because,  on  considering  our 
relative  positions,  and  knowing  the  impetuosity  of  your  tem- 
per, I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here  ;  it  is  scarcely  generous  in 
you  to  come,  for  the  purpose  of  indulging  in  a  poor,  and 
what,  after  all,  may  be  an  equivocal  and  premature  triumph 
over  a  man  whose  love  for  your  daughter,  you  must  know, 
will  seal  his  lips  against  the  expression  of  one  offensive  word 
towards  you." 

"  But  how,  let  me  ask,  sir,  do  you  know  what  brought  me 
here  ?  I  didn't  come  to  scold  you,  nor  to  triumph  over 
you  ;  and  I  have  already  said  the  worst  I  shall  say.  I  know 
very  well  that  you  and  Whitecraft  will  be  hanged,  probably 
from  the  same  rope  too,  but,  in  the  meantime,  I  would  save 
you  both  if  I  could.  I  fear  indeed  that  to  save  him  is  out 
of  the  question,  because  it  appears  that  there's  a  cart-load 
of  indictments  against  him." 

11  How  could  you  doubt  it,  sir,  when  you  know  the  in- 
credible extent  of  his  villany,  both  private  and  public  ?  and 
yet  this  is  the  man  to  whom  you  would  have  married  your 
daughter  !" 

44  No  ;  when  I  found  Helen  reduced  to  such  a  state  the 
morning  on  which  they  were  to  be  married,  I  told  her  at 
once  that  as  she  felt  so  bitterly  against  him  I  would  never 
suffer  him  to  become  her  husband.  Neither  will  I  ;  if  he 
were  acquitted  to-morrow  I  would  tell  him  so  ;  but  you, 
Reilly,  love  my  daughter  for  her  own  sake." 

"  For  her  own  sake,  sir,  as  you  have  said,  I  love  her. 
If  she  had  millions,  it  could  not  increase  my  affection,  and 
if  she  had  not  a  penny,  it  would  not  diminish  it." 

"  Well,  but  you  can  have  her  if  you  wish,  notwithstand- 
ing." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  359 

Reilly  first  looked  at  him  with  amazement  ;  but  he  was 
so  thoroughly  acquainted  with  his  character,  both  from  what 
he  had  seen  and  heard  of  it,  that  his  amazement  passed 
away,  and  he  simply  replied  : 

11  Pray  how,  sir  ?" 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Reilly  ;  except  with  respect  to 
political  principles,  I  don't  think,  after  all,  that  there's  the 
difference  of  a  rush  between  the  Papist  and  the  Protestant 
Churches,  as  mere  religions.  My  own  opinion  is,  that 
there's  neither  of  them  any  great  shakes,  as  to  any  effect 
they  have  on  society,  unless  to  disturb  it.  I  have  known 
as  good  Papists  as  ever  I  did  Protestants,  and  indeed  I 
don't  know  why  a  Papist  should  not  be  as  good  a  man  as  a 
Protestant  ;  nor  why  a  Protestant  should  not  be  as  good  a 
man  as  a  Papist,  on  the  other  hand.  Now,  do  you  see  what 
I'm  driving  at  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  exactly  say  that  I  do,"  replied  Reilly. 

11  Then  the  upshot  of  the  argument  is  this,  that  there  is 
not  a  toss-up  between  them,  and  any  man  getting  into  a 
scrape,  and  who  could  get  out  of  it  by  changing  from  one 
to  the  other — of  course  I  mean  from  Popery  to  Protestant- 
ism— would  prove  himself  a  man  of  good  sound  sense,  and 
above  the  prejudices  of  the  world." 

The  truth  is,  Reilly  saw  ere  this  what  Folliard  was  ap- 
proaching, and,  as  he  determined  to  allow  him  full  scope, 
his  reply  was  brief  : 

"  You  seem  fond  of  indulging  in  speculation,  sir,"  replied 
Reilly,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  I  should  be  glad  to  know  why 
you  introduce  this  subject  to  met" 

11  To  you  ?"  replied  Folliard  ;  "  why,  who  the  devil  else 
should  or  could  I  introduce  it  to  with  such  propriety  ? 
Here  now  are  two  religions  ;  one's  not  sixpence  better  nor 
worse  than  the  other.  Now,  you  belong  to  one  of  them, 
and  because  you  do  you're  here  snug  and  fast.  I  say,  then,  I 
have  a  proposal  to  make  to  you  :  you  are  yourself  in  a  diffi- 
culty— you  have  placed  me  in  a  difficulty — and  you  have 
placed  poor  Helen  in  a  difficulty — which,  if  any  thing  hap- 
pens you,  I  think  will  break  her  heart,  poor  child.  Now 
you  can  take  her  yourself,  and  me,  out  of  all  our  difficul- 
ties, if  you  have  only  sense  enough  to  shove  over  from  the 

old  P to  the  young  P .     As  a  Protestant,  you  can 

marry  Helen,    Reilly — but    as  a  Papist,   never  !    and   you 


360  WILLY  REILLY. 

know  the  rest  ;  for  if  you  are  obstinate,  and  blind  to  your 
own  interests,  I  must  do  my  duty." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask,  sir,  whether  Miss  Folliard  is 
aware  of  this  mission  of  yours  to  me  ?" 

11  She  aware  !  She  never  dreamt  of  it  ;  but  I  have  prom- 
ised to  tell  her  the  result  after  dinner  to-day." 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "will  you  allow  me  to  state 
to  you  a  few  facts  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  go  on." 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  such  is  your  daughter's  high 
and  exquisite  sense  of  integrity  and  honor  that,  if  I  con- 
sented to  the  terms  you  propose,  she  would  reject  me  with 
indignation  and  scorn,  as  she  ought  to  do.  There,  then,  is 
your  project  for  accomplishing  my  selfish  and  dishonest 
apostacy  given  to  the  winds.  Your  daughter,  sir,  is  too 
pure  in  all  her  moral  feelings,  and  too  noble-minded,  to  take 
to  her  arms  a  renegade  husband — a  renegade,  too,  not  from 
conviction,  but  from  selfish  and  mercenary  purposes." 

11  Confound  the  thing,  this  is  but  splitting  hairs,  Reilly, 
and  talking  big  for  effect.  Speak,  however,  for  yourself  ; 
as  for  Helen,  I  know  very  well  that,  in  spite  of  your  heroics 
and  her's,  she'd  be  devilish  glad  you'd  become  a  Protestant 
and  marry  her." 

"Iara  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  you  don't  know  your  own 
daughter  ;  but  as  for  me,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  one  word  of 
your's,  or  of  her's,  could  place  me  on  the  British  throne,  I 
would  not  abandon  my  religion.  Under  no  circumstances 
would  I  abandon  it  ;  but  least  of  all,  now  that  it  is  so  bar- 
barously persecuted  by  its  enemies.  This,  sir,  is  my  final 
determination." 

But  do  you  know  the  alternative  ?" 

11  No,  sir,  nor  do  you." 

"Don't  I,  faith?  Why,  the  alternative  is  simply  this — 
either  marriage  or  hanging  !" 

"Be  it  so  ;  in  that  case  I  will  die  like  a  man  of  honor 
and  a  true  Christian  and  Catholic,  as  I  hope  I  am." 

"Asa  true  fool,  Reilly — as  a  true  fool.  I  took  this  step 
privately,  out  of  respect  for  your  character.  See  how  many 
of  your  creed  become  Protestants  for  the  sake  of  mere  prop- 
erty ;  think  how  many  of  them  join  oar  Church  for  the 
purpose  of  ousting  their  own  fathers  and  relatives  from  their 
estates  ;  and  what  is  it  all,  on  their  parts,  but  the  conse- 


WILLY  RE  ILLY  361 

quence  of  an  enlightened  judgment  that  shows  them  the 
errors  of  their  old  creed,  and  the  truth  of  ours  ?  I  think, 
Reilly,  you  are  loose  about  the  brains." 

14  That  may  be,  sir,  but  you  will  never  find  me  loose 
about  my  principles." 

44  Are  you  aware,  sir,  that  Helen  is  to  appear  against  you 
as  an  evidence  ?" 

44  No,  sir,  I  am  not,  neither  do  I  believe  it.  But  now, 
sir,  I  beg  you  to  terminate  this  useless  and  unpleasant  in- 
terview. I  can  look  into  my  own  conscience  with  satisfac- 
tion, and  am  prepared  for  the  worst.  If  the  scaffold  is  to 
be  my  fate,  I  cannot  but  remember  that  many  a  noble  spirit 
has  closed  the  cares  of  an  unhappy  life  upon  it.  I  wish  you 
good-day,  Mr.  Folliard." 

44  By  the  Boyne  !  you  are  the  most  obstinate  blockhead 
that  ever  lived  ;  but  I've  done  ;  I  did  all  in  my  power  to 
save  you — yet  to  no  purpose.  Upon  my  soul,  I'll  come  to 
your  execution." 

44  And  if  you  do,  you  will  see  me  die  like  a  man  and  a 
gentleman  ;  may  I  humbly  add,  like  a  Christian  !" 

The  squire,  on  his  way  home,  kept  up  a  long,  low  whistle, 
broken  only  by  occasional  soliloquies,  in  which  Reilly's 
want  of  common-sense,  and  neglect  not  only  of  his  temporal 
interests,  but  of  his  life  itself,  were  the  prevailing  senti- 
ments. He  regretted  his  want  of  success,  which  he  imputed 
altogether  to  Reilly's  obstinacy,  instead  of  his  integrity, 
firmness,  and  honor. 

This  train  of  reflection  threw  him  into  one  of  those  capri- 
cious fits  of  resentment  so  peculiar  to  his  unsteady  temper, 
and  as  he  went  along  he  kept  lashing  himself  up  into  a  red 
heat  of  indignation  and  vengeance  against  that  unfortunate 
gentleman.  After  dinner  that  day  he  felt  somewhat  puzzled 
as  to  whether  he  ought  to  communicate  to  his  daughter  the 
result  of  his  interview  with  Reilly  or  not.  Upon  consider- 
ation, however,  he  deemed  it  more  prudent  to  avoid  the 
subject  altogether,  for  he  felt  apprehensive  that,  however 
she  might  approve  of  her  lover's  conduct,  the  knowledge  of 
his  fate,  which  depended  on  it,  would  only  plunge  her  into 
deeper  distress.  The  evening  consequently  passed  without 
any  allusion  to  the  subject,  unless  a  peculiar  tendency  to 
melody,  on  his  part,  might  be  taken  to  mean  something  ;  to 
this  we  might  add  short  abrupt  ejaculations  unconsciously 


362  WILLY  REILLY. 

uttered — such  as — "Whew,  whew,  whew-o-whew-o — hang 
the  fellow  !  Whew,  whew-o-whew — he's  a  cursed  goose, 
but  an  obstinate — whew,  whew-o-whew-o.  Ay,  but  no  mat- 
ter— well — whew,  whew-o,  whew,  whew  !  Helen,  a  cup  of 
tea.  Now,  Helen,  do  you  know  a  discovery  I  have  made — 
but  how  could  you  ?  No,  you  don't,  of  course  ;  but  listen 
and  pay  attention  to  me,  because  it  deeply  affects  myself. ' ' 

The  poor  girl,  apprehensive  that  he  was  about  to  divulge 
some  painful  secret,  became  pale  and  a  good  deal  agitated  ; 
she  gave  him  a  long,  inquiring  look,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Yes,  Helen,  and  the  discovery  is  this  :  I  find  from 
experience  that  tea  and  Burgundy — or,  indeed,  tea  and 
any  kind  of  wine — don't  agree  with  my  constitution  :  curse 
the  fel — whew,  whew,  whew,  whew-o-whew  ;  no,  the  con- 
founded mixture  turns  my  stomach  into  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  a  bag  of  aquafortis — if  he  had  but  common  — 
whew — " 

11  Well,  but,  papa,  why  do  you  take  tea,  then  ?" 

11  Because  I'm  an  old  fool,  Helen  ;  and  if  I  am,  there  are 
some  young  ones  besides  ;  but  it  can't  be  helped  now — 
whew,  whew — it  was  done  for  the  best. ' ' 

In  this  manner  he  went  on  for  a  considerable  time,  ejacu- 
lating mysteries  and  enigmas,  until  he  finished  the  second 
bottle,  after  which  he  went  to  bed. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  state  here  that,  notwithstanding 
the  incredible  force  and  tenderness  of  his  affection  for  his 
daughter,  he  had,  ever  since  her  elopement  with  Reilly,  kept 
her  under  the  strictest  surveillance,  and  in  the  greatest  se- 
clusion— that  is  to  say,  as  the  proverb  has  it,  "  he  locked 
the  stable  door  when  the  steed  was  stolen;"  or  if  he  did 
not  realize  the  aphorism,  he  came  very  near  it. 

Time,  however,  passes,  and  the  assizes  were  at  hand,  a 
fearful  Avatar  of  judicial  power  to  the  guilty.  The  struggle 
between  the  parties  who  were  interested  in  the  fate  of 
Whitecraft,  and  those  who  felt  the  extent  of  his  unparalleled 
guilt,  and  the  necessity  not  merely  of  making  him  an  exam- 
ple but  of  punishing  him  for  his  enormous  crimes,  was  dread- 
ful. The  infatuation  of  political  rancor  on  one  side,  an  in- 
fatuation which  could  perceive  nothing  but  the  virtue  of 
high  and  resolute  Protestantism  in  his  conduct,  blinded  his 
supporter  to  the  enormity  of  his  conduct,  and,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  they  left  no  stone  unturned  to  save  his  life.     As 


IVILLY  REILLY.  363 

we  said,  however,  they  were  outnumbered  ;  but  still  they 
did  not  despair.  R.eilly's  friends  had  been  early  in  the 
legal  market,  and  succeeded  in  retaining  some  of  the  ablest 
men  at  the  bar,  his  leading  counsel  being  the  celebrated  ad- 
vocate Fox,  who  was  at  that  time  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished men  at  the  Irish  bar.  Helen,  as  the  assizes  ap- 
proached, broke  down  so  completely  in  her  health  that  it 
was  felt,  if  she  remained  in  that  state,  that  she  would  be  un- 
able to  attend  ;  and  although  Reilly's  trial  was  first  on  the 
list,  his  opposing  counsel  succeeded  in  getting  it  postponed 
for  a  day  or  two,  in  order  than  an  important  witness,  then 
ill,  he  said,  might  be  able  to  appear  on  their  part. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  go  through  the  details  of  the  trial 
of  the  Red  Rapparee.  The  evidence  of  Mary  Mahon,  Fer- 
gus O'Reilly,  and  the  sheriff,  was  complete  ;  the  chain  was 
unbroken  ;  the  change  of  apparel — the  dialogue  in  Mary 
Mahon's  cabin,  in  which  he  avowed  the  fact  of  his  having 
robbed  the  sheriff — the  identification  of  his  person  by  the 
said  sheriff  in  the  farmer's  house,  as  before  stated,  left 
nothing  for  the  jury  to  do  but  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  guilty. 
Mercy  was  out  of  the  question.  The  hardened  ruffian — the 
treacherous  ruffian — who  had  lent  himself  to  the  bloodthirsty 
schemes  of  Whitecraft — and  all  this  came  out  upon  his  trial, 
not  certainly  to  the  advantage  of  the  baronet — this  hardened 
and  treacherous  ruffian,  we  say,  who  had  been  a  scourge  to 
that  part  of  the  country  for  years,  now  felt,  when  the  ver- 
dict of  guilty  was  brought  in  against  him,  just  as  a  smith's 
anvil  might  feel  when  struck  by  a  feather.  On  hearing  it, 
he  growled  a  hideous  laugh,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  To  the  divil  I  pitch  you  all  ;  I  wish,  though,  that  I  had 
Tom  Bradley,  the  prophecy  man,  here,  who  tould  me  that 
I'd  never  be  hanged,  and  that  the  rope  was  never  born  for 
me." 

"  If  the  rope  was  not  born  for  you,"  observed  the  judge, 
11  I  fear  I  shall  be  obliged  to  inform  you  that  you  were  born 
for  the  rope.  Your  life  has  been  an  outrage  upon  civilized 
society." 

11  Why,  you  ould  dog!"  said  the  Rapparee,  "you  can't 
hang  me  ;  haven't  I  a  pardon  ?  didn't  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
get  me  a  pardon  from  the  Government  for  turnin'  against 
the  Catholics,  and  tellin'  him  where  to  find  the  priests  ? 
Why,  you  joulter-headed  ould  dog,  you  can't  hang  me,  or, 


364  WILLY  RELLLY. 

if  you  do,  I'll  leave  them  behind  me  that  will  put  such  a 
half  ounce  pill  into  your  guts  as  will  make  you  turn  up  the 
whites  of  your  eyes  like  a  duck  in  tundher.  You'll  hang 
me  for  robbery,  you  ould  sinner  !  But  what  is  one  half  the 
world  doin'  but  robbin'  the  other  half  ?  and  what  is  the 
other  half  doin'  but  robbin'  them  ?  As  for  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  if  he  desaved  me  by  lies  and  falsehoods,  as  I'm 
afraid  he  did,  all  I  say  is,  that  if  I  had  him  here  for  one 
minute  I'd  show  him  a  trick  he'd  never  tell  to  mortal. 
Now  go  on,  big-wig." 

Notwithstanding  the  solemnity  of  the  position  in  which 
this  obdurate  ruffian  was  placed,  the  judge  found  it  nearly 
impossible  to  silence  the  laughter  of  the  audience  and  pre- 
serve order  in  the  court.  At  length  he  succeeded,  and  con- 
tinued his  brief  address  to  the  Rapparee  : 

"  Hardened  and  impenitent  reprobate,  in  the  course  of 
my  judicial  duties,  onerous  and  often  painful  as  they  are 
and  have  been,  I  must  say  that,  although  it  has  fallen  to  my 
lot  to  pronounce  the  awful  sentence  of  death  upon  many  an 
unfeeling  felon,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  a  public  malefactor 
so  utterly  devoid  of  all  the  feelings  which  belong  to  man, 
and  so  strongly  impregnated  with  those  of  the  savage  animal 
as  you  are,  has  never  stood  in  a  dock  before  me,  nor 
probably  before  any  other  judge,  living  or  dead.  Would  it 
be  a  waste  of  language  to  enforce  upon  you  the  necessity  of 
repentance  ?  I  fear  it  would  ;  but  it  matters  not  ;  the  guilt 
of  impenitence  be  on  your  own  head,  still  I  must  do  my 
duty  ;  try,  then,  and  think  of  death,  and  a  far  more  awful 
judgment  than  mine.  Think  of  the  necessity  you  have  for 
supplicating  mercy  at  the  throne  of  your  Redeemer,  who 
himself  died  for  you,  and  for  all  of  us,  between  two  thieves. ' ' 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  case  ;  I  never  was  a 
thief  ;  I  robbed  like  an  honest  man  on  the  king's  highways  ; 
but  as  for  thievin',  why,  you  ould  sinner,  I  never  stole  a 
farthing's  worth  in  my  life.  Don't,  then,  pitch  such  beggarly 
comparisons  into  my  teeth.  I  never  did  what  you  and  your 
class  often  did  ;  I  never  robbed  the  poor  in  the  name  of  the 
blessed  laws  of  the  land  ;  I  never  oppressed  the  widow  or 
the  orphan  ;  and  for  all  that  I  took  from  those  that  did  op- 
press them,  the  divil  a  grain  of  sorrow  or  repentance. I  fed 
for  it,  nor  ever  will  feel  for  it.  Oh  !  mother  of  Moses  !  if 
I  had  a  glass  of  whiskey  !" 


WILLY  RELLLY.  365 

The  judge  was  obliged  to  enforce  silence  a  second  time  ; 
for,  to  tell  the  truth,  there  was  something  so  ludicrously  im- 
penitent in  the  conduct  of  this  hardened  convict  that  the 
audience  could  not  resist  it,  especially  when  it  is  remembered 
that  the  sympathies  of  the  lower  Irish  are  always  with  such 
culprits. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  judge,  when  silence  was  again  re- 
stored, "  your  unparalleled  obduracy  has  gained  one  point  ; 
it  was  my  intention  to  have  ordered  you  for  execution  to- 
morrow at  the  hour  of  twelve  o'clock  ;  but,  as  a  Christian 
man,  I  could  not  think  for  a  moment  of  hurrying  you  into 
eternity  in  your  present  state.  The  sentence  of  the  court 
then  is  that  you  be  taken  from  the  dock  in  which  you  now 
stand  to  the  prison  from  whence  you  came,  and  that  from 
thence  you  be  brought  to  the  place  of  execution  on  next 
Saturday,  and  there  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  be 
dead,  and  may  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul  !" 

The  Rapparee  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  of  the  most  hard- 
ened effrontery,  and  exclaimed,  "  Is  it  in  earnest  you  are  ?" 
after  which  he  was  once  more  committed  to  his  cell,  loaded 
with  heavy  chains,  which  he  wore,  by  the  way,  during  his 
trial. 

Now,  in  order  to  account  for  his  outrageous  conduct,  we 
must  make  a  disclosure  to  the  reader.  There  is  in  and 
about  all  jails  a  certain  officer  yclept  a  hangman — an  officer 
who  is  permitted  a  freer  ingress  and  egress  than  almost 
any  other  person  connected  with  those  gloomy  establish- 
ments. This  hangman,  who  resided  in  the  prison,  had  a  bro- 
ther whom  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  had  hanged,  and,  it  was 
thought,  innocently.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  man  in  ques- 
tion was  heard  to  utter  strong  threats  of  vengeance  against 
Sir  Robert  for  having  his  brother,  whose  innocence  he  as- 
serted, brought  to  execution.  In  some  time  after  this  a 
pistol  was  fired  one  night  at  Sir  Robert  from  behind  a  hedge, 
which  missed  him  ;  but  as  his  myrmidons  were  with  him, 
and  the  night  was  light,  a  pursuit  took  place,  and  the  guilty 
wretch  was  taken  prisoner,  with  the  pistol  on  his  person, 
still  warm  after  having  been  discharged.  The  consequence 
was  that  he  was  condemned  to  death.  But  it  so  happened 
that  at  this  period,  although  there  were  five  or  six  execu- 
tions to  take  place,  yet  there  was  no  hangman  to  be  had, 
that  officer  having  died  suddenly,  after  a  fit  of  liquor,  and 


3^6  WILLY  RELLLY. 

the  sheriff  would  have  been  obliged  to  discharge  the  office 
with  his  own  hands  unless  a  finisher  of  the  law  could  be 
found.  In  brief,  he  was  found,  and  in  the  person  of  the 
individual  alluded  to,  who,  in  consequence  of  his  consenting 
to  accept  the  office,  got  a  pardon  from  the  Crown.  Now 
this  man  and  the  Rapparee  had  been  old  acquaintances,  and 
renewed  their  friendship  in  prison.  Through  the  means  of 
the  hangman  O'Donnel  got  in  as  much  whiskey  as  he 
pleased,  and  we  need  scarcely  say  that  they  often  got  in- 
toxicated together.  The  secret,  therefore,  which  we  had  to 
disclose  to  the  reader,  in  explanation  of  the  Rapparee's  con- 
duct at  his  trial,  was  simply  this,  that  the  man  was  three 
quarters  drunk. 

After  trial  he  was  placed  in  a  darker  dungeon  than  be- 
fore ;  but  such  was  the  influence  of  the  worthy  executioner 
with  every  officer  of  the  jail,  that  he  was  permitted  to  go 
either  in  or  out  without  search,  and  as  he  often  gave  a 
"  slug,"  as  he  called  it,  to  the  turnkeys,  they  consequently 
allowed  him,  in  this  respect,  whatever  privileges  he  wished. 
Even  the  Rapparee's  dungeon  was  not  impenetrable  to  him, 
especially  as  he  put  the  matter  on  a  religious  footing,  to  wit, 
that  as  the  unfortunate  robber  was  not  allowed  the  spiritual 
aid  of  his  own  clergy,  he  himself  was  the  only  person  left  to 
prepare  him  for  death,  which  he  did  with  the  whiskey- 
bottle. 

The  assizes  on  that  occasion  were  protracted  to  an  un- 
usual length.  The  country  was  in  a  most  excited  state,  and 
party  feeling  ran  fearfully  high.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but 
the  two  trials,  par  excellence,  to  wit,  that  of  Whitecraft  and 
Reilly  ;  and  scarcely  a  fair  or  market,  for  a  considerable 
time  previous,  ever  came  round  in  which  there  was  not  a 
battle  on  the  subject  of  either  one  or  the  other  of  them,  and 
not  unfrequently  of  both.  Nobody  was  surprised  at  the 
conviction  of  the  Red  Rapparee  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  every 
one  was  glad  that  the  country  had  at  last  got  rid  of  him. 

Poor  Helen,  however,  was  not  permitted  to  remain  quiet, 
as  she  had  expected.  When  Mr.  Doldrum  had  furnished  the 
leading  counsel  with  his  brief  and  a  list  of  the  witnesses,  the 
latter  gentleman  was  surprised  to  see  the  name  of  Helen 
Folliard  among  them. 

11  How  is  this  ?"  he  inquired  ;  "is  not  this  the  celebrated 
beauty  who  eloped  with  him  ?" 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  367 

"  It  is,  sir,"  replied  Doldrum. 

11  But,"  proceeded  the  other,  "  you  have  not  instructed 
me  in  the  nature  of  the  evidence  she  is  prepared  to  give." 

11  She  is  deeply  penitent,  sir,  and  in  a  very  feeble  state  of 
health  ;  so  much  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  leave  the  ten- 
dency of  her  evidence  to  be  brought  out  on  the  trial." 

"  Have  you  subpoenaed  her  ?" 

"  No',  sir." 

"And  why  not,  Mr.  Doldrum?  Don't  you  know  that 
there  is  no  understanding  the  caprices  of  women  ?  You 
ought  to  have  subpoenaed  her,  because,  if  she  be  a  leading 
evidence,  she  may  still  change  her  mind  and  leave  us  in  the 
lurch." 

"I  certainly  did  not  subpoena  her,"  replied  Doldrum, 
11  because,  when  I  mentioned  it  to  her  father,  he  told  me 
that  if  I  attempted  it  he  would  break  my  head.  It  was 
enough,  he  said,  that  she  had  given  her  promise — a  thing, 
he  added,  which  she  was  never  known  to  break." 

"  Go  to  her  again,  Doldrum  ;  for  unless  we  know  what 
she  can  prove  we  will  be  only  working  in  the  dark.  Try 
her,  at  all  events,  and  glean  what  you  can  out  of  her.  Her 
father  tells  me  she  is  somewhat  better,  so  I  don't  apprehend 
you  will  have  much  difficulty  in  seeing  her." 

Doldrum  did  see  her,  and  was  astonished  at  the  striking 
change  which  had,  in  so  short  a  time,  taken  place  in  her  ap- 
pearance. She  was  pale,  and  exhibited  all  the  symptoms  of 
an  invalid,  with  the  exception  of  her  eyes,  which  were  not 
merely  brilliant,  but  dazzling,  and  full  of  a  fire  that  flashed 
from  them  with  something  like  triumph  whenever  her  atten- 
tion was  directed  to  the  purport  of  her  testimony.  On  this 
subject  they  saw  that  it  would  be  quite  useless,  and  probably 
worse  than  useless,  to  press  her,  and  they  did  not,  conse- 
quently, put  her  to  the  necessity  of  specifying  the  purport 
of  her  evidence. 

11  I  have  already  stated,"  said  she,  "  that  I  shall  attend 
the  trial  ;  that  ought,  and  must  be,  sufficient  for  you.  I 
beg,  then,  you  will  withdraw,  sir.  My  improved  health  will 
enable  me  to  attend,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that  if  I 
have  life  I  shall  be  there,  as  I  have  already  told  you  ;  but, 
I  say,  that  if  you  wish  to  press  me  for  the  nature  of  my  evi- 
dence, you  shall  have  it,"  and,  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes 
flashed  fearfully,  as  they  were  in  the  habit  of  doing  whenever 


3^3  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

she  felt  deeply  excited.  Folliard  himself  became  apprehen- 
sive of  the  danger  which  might  result  from  the  discussion  of 
any  subject  calculated  to  disturb  her,  and  insisted  that  she 
should  be  allowed  to  take  her  own  way.  In  the  meantime, 
after  they  had  left  her,  at  her  own  request,  her  father  in- 
formed the  attorney  that  she  was  getting  both  strong  and 
cheerful,  in  spite  of  her  looks. 

11  To  be  sure,"  said  he,  "  she  is  pale  !  but  that's  only 
natural,  after  her  recent  slight  attack,  and  all  the  excitement 
and  agitation  she  has  for  some  time  past  undergone.  She 
sings  and  plays  now,  although  I  have  heard  neither  a  song 
nor  a  tune  from  her  for  a  long  time  past.  In  the  evening, 
too,  she  is  exceedingly  cheerful  when  we  sit  together  in  the 
drawing-room  ;  and  she  often  laughs  more  heartily  than 
I  ever  knew  her  to  do  before  in  my  life.  Now,  do  you 
think,  Doldrum,  if  she  was  breaking  her  heart  about  Reilly 
that  she  would  be  in  such  spirits  ?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  she  would  be  melancholy  and  silent,  and 
would  neither  sing,  nor  laugh,  nor  play  ;  at  least  I  felt  so 
when  I  was  in  love  with  Miss  S withers,  who  kept  me  in  a 
state  of  equilibrium  for  better  than  two  years  ;  but  that 
wasn't  the  worst  of  it,  for  she  knocked  the  loyalty  clean  out 
of  me  besides — indeed,  so  decidedly  so  that  I  never  once 
sang  '  Lillibullero'  during  the  whole  period  of  my  attach- 
ment, and  be  hanged  to  her." 

"  And  what  became  of  her  ?" 

"  Why,  she  married  my  clerk,  who  used  to  serve  my  love- 
letters  upon  her  ;  and  when  I  expected  to  come  in  by  execu- 
tion— that  is,  by  marriage — that  cursed  little  sheriff,  Cupid, 
made  a  return  of  nulla  bona.  She  and  Sam  Snivel — a  kind 
of  half  Puritan — entered  a  ^appearance,  and  I  never  saw 
them  since  ;  but  I  am  told  they  are  in  America.  From 
what  you  tell  me,  sir,  I  have  no  doubt  but  Miss  Folliard 
will  make  a  capital  witness.  In  fact,  Reilly  ought  to  feel 
proud  of  the  honor  of  being  hanged  by  her  evidence  ;  she 
will  be  a  host  in  herself." 

We  have  already  stated  that  the  leading  counsel  against 
Reilly  had  succeeded  in  getting  his  trial  postponed  until 
Miss  Folliard  should  arrive  at  a  sufficient  state  of  health  to 
appear  against  him.  In  the  meantime,  the  baronet's  trial, 
which  was  in  a  political,  indeed,  we  might  say,  a  national 
point  of  view,  of  far  more  importance  than  Reilly 's,  was  to 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  369 

come  on  next  day.  In  the  general  extent  of  notoriety  or 
fame,  Reilly  had  got  in  advance — though  not  much — of  his 
implacable  rival.  The  two  trials  were,  in  fact,  so  closely 
united  by  the  relative  position  of  the  parties  that  public 
opinion  was  strangely  and  strongly  divided  between  them. 
Reilly  and  his  Cooleen  Bawn  had,  by  the  unhappy  peculi- 
arity of  their  fate,  excited  the  interest  of  all  the  youthful 
and  loving  part  of  society — an  interest  which  was  necessarily 
reflected  upon  Whitecraft,  as  Reilly's  rival,  independently 
of  the  hold  which  his  forthcoming  fate  had  upon  grave  and 
serious  politicians.  Reilly's  leading  counsel,  Fox,  a  man 
of  great  judgment  and  ability,  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  in 
consequence  of  the  exacerbated  state  of  feeling  produced 
against  the  Catholics  by  the  prosecution  of  Whitecraft — to 
appease  whom,  the  opinion  went  that  it  was  instituted — it 
seemed  unlikely  that  Reilly  had  a  single  chance.  Had  his 
trial,  he  said,  taken  place  previous  to  that  of  Whitecraft's, 
he  might  have  escaped  many  of  the  consequences  of  White- 
craft's  conviction  ;  but  now,  should  the  latter  be  convicted, 
the  opposing  party  would  die  in  the  jury-box  rather  than  let 
Reilly  escape. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

PREPARATIONS — JURY    OF     THE     OLDEN     TIME — THE    SCALES 
OF    JUSTICE. 

AT  last  the  trial  came  on,  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
the  great  champion  of  Protestantism — a  creed  which 
he  did  not  believe — was  conducted  into  the  court-house  and 
placed  in  the  dock.  He  was  dressed  in  his  best  apparel,  in 
order  to  distinguish  himself  from  common  culprits,  and  to 
give  this  poor  external  evidence  of  his  rank,  with  a  hope 
that  it  might  tell,  to  a  certain  extent  at  least,  upon  the  feel- 
ing of  the  jury.  When  placed  in  the  dock,  a  general  buzz 
and  bustle  agitated  the  whole  court.  His  friends  became 
alert,  and  whispered  to  each  other  with  much  earnestness, 
and  a  vast  number  of  them  bowed  to  him,  and  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  advised  him  to  be  cool,  and  keep  up  his  spir- 
its.    His  appearance,  however,  was  any  thing  but  firm  ;  his 


37°  WILLY  REILLY. 

face  was  deadly  pale,  his  eyes  dull  and  cowardly,  his  knees 
trembled  so  much  that  he  was  obliged  to  support  himself 
on  the  front  of  the  dock. 

At  length  the  trial  commenced,  and  the  case  having  been 
opened  by  a  young  lawyer,  a  tall,  intellectual-looking  man, 
about  the  middle  age,  of  pale  but  handsome  features,  and  an 
eye  of  singular  penetration  and  brilliancy,  rose  ;  and  after 
pulling  up  his  gown  at  the  shoulders,  and  otherwise  adjust- 
ing it,  proceeded  to  lay  a  statement  of  this  extraordinary 
case  before  the  jury. 

He  dwelt  upon  "  the  pain  which  he  felt  in  contemplating 
a  gentleman  of  rank  and  vast  wealth  occupying  the  degraded 
position  of  a  felon,  but  not,  he  was  sorry  to  say,  of  a  com- 
mon felon.  The  circumstances,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  which  have  brought  the  prisoner  before  you  this 
day,  involve  a  long  catalogue  of  crimes  that  as  far  tran- 
scend, in  the  hideousness  of  their  guilt,  the  offences  of  a 
common  felon  as  his  rank  and  position  in  life  do  that  of  the 
humblest  villain  who  ever  stood  before  a  court  of  justice. 

"  The  position,  gentlemen,  of  this  country  has  for  a  long 
series  of  years  been  peculiar,  anomalous,  and  unhappy. 
Divided  as  it  is,  and  has  been,  by  the  bitter  conflict  between 
two  opposing  creeds  and  parties,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  it  should  be  a  melancholy  scene  of  misery,  destitution, 
famine,  and  crime  ;  and,  unhappily,  it  presents  to  us  the 
frightful  aspect  of  all  these.  The  nature,  however,  of  the 
conflicts  between  those  creeds  and  parties,  inasmuch  as  it 
bears  upon  the  case  of  the  prisoner,  gentlemen,  who  now 
stands  for  trial  and  a  verdict  at  your  hands,  is  such  as  forces 
me,  on  that  account,  to  dwell  briefly  upon  it.  In  doing  so, 
I  will  have  much,  for  the  sake  of  our  common  humanity,  to 
regret  and  to  deplore.  It  is  a  fundamental  principle,  gen- 
tlemen, in  our  great  and  glorious  Constitution,  that  the  para- 
mount end  and  object  of  our  laws  is  to  protect  the  person, 
the  liberty,  and  the  property  of  the  subject.  But  there  is 
something,  gentlemen,  still  dearer  to  us  than  either  liberty, 
person,  or  property  ;  something  which  claims  a  protection 
from  those  laws  that  stamps  them  with  a  nobler  and  a  loftier 
character,  when  it  is  afforded,  and  weaves  them  into  the 
hearts  and  feelings  of  men  of  all  creeds,  when  this  divine 
mission  of  the  law  is  fulfilled.  I  allude,  gentlemen,  to  the 
inalienable  right  of  every  man  to  worship  God  freely,  and 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  371 

according  to  his  own  conscience — without  restraint — with- 
out terror — without  oppression,  and,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
without  persecution.  A  man,  or  a  whole  people,  worship 
God,  we  will  assume,  sincerely,  according  to  their  notions 
of  what  is  right,  and,  I  say,  gentlemen,  that  the  individual 
who  persecutes  that  man,  or  those  people,  for  piously  wor- 
shipping their  Creator,  commits  blasphemy  against  the  Al- 
mighty— and  stains,  as  it  were,  the  mercy-seat  with  blood. 

11  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  let  me  ask  you  what  has  been 
the  state  and  condition  of  this  unhappy  and  distracted  coun- 
try ?  I  have  mentioned  two  opposing  creeds,  and  conse- 
quently two  opposing  parties,  and  I  have  also  mentioned 
persecution  ;  but  let  me  also  ask  you  again  on  which  side 
has  the  persecution  existed  ?  Look  at  your  Roman  Catho- 
lic fellow-subjects,  and  ask  yourselves  to  what  terrible  out- 
burst of  political  and  religious  vengeance  have  they  not  been 
subjected  ?  But  it  is  said  they  are  not  faithful  and  loyal 
subjects,  and  that  they  detest  the  laws.  Well,  let  us  con- 
sider this — let  us  take  a  cursory  view  of  all  that  the  spirit 
and  operation  of  the  laws  have  left  them  to  be  thankful  for 
— have  brought  to  bear  upon  them  for  the  purpose,  we  must 
suppose,  of  securing  their  attachment  and  their  loyalty. 
Let  us, . gentlemen,  calmly  and  solemnly,  and  in  a  Christian 
temper,  take  a  brief  glance  at  the  advantages  which  the  free 
and  glorious  spirit  of  the  British  Constitution  has  held  out 
to  them,  in  order  to  secure  their  allegiance.  In  the  first 
place,  their  nobles  and  their  gentry  have  been  deprived  of 
their  property,  and  the  right  of  tenure  has  been  denied  even 
to  the  people.  Ah,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
what  ungrateful  and  disloyal  miscreant  could  avoid  loving  a 
Constitution,  and  hugging  to  his  grateful  heart  laws  which 
showered  down  such  blessings  upon  him,  and  upon  all  these 
who  belong  to  a  creed  so  favored  ?  But  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  felt  that  these  laws  had  still  a  stronger  claim  upon 
their  affections.  They  would  protect  their  religion  as  they 
did  their  property  ;  and  in  order  to  attach  them  still  more 
strongly,  they  shut  up  their  places  of  worship — they  pro- 
scribed and  banished  and  hung  their  clergy — they  hung  or 
shot  the  unfortunate  people  who  fled  to  worship  God  in  the 
desert — in  mountain  fastnesses  and  in  caves,  and  threw  their 
dead  bodies  to  find  a  tomb  in  the  entrails  of  the  birds  of  the 
air,  or  the  dogs  which  even  persecution  had  made  mad  with 


372  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

hunger.  But  again — for  this  pleasing  panorama  is  not  yet 
closed,  the  happy  Catholics,  who  must  have  danced  with 
delight,  under  the  privileges  of  such  a  Constitution,  were 
deprived  of  the  right  to  occupy  and  possess  all  civil  offices 
— their  enterprise  was  crushed — their  industry  made  subser- 
vient to  the  rapacity  of  their  enemies,  and  not  to  their  own 
prosperity*  But  this  is  far  from  being  all.  The  sources  of 
knowledge — of  knowledge  which  only  can  enlighten  and 
civilize  the  mind,  prevent  crime,  and  promote  the  progress  of 
human  society — these  sources  of  knowledge,  I  say,  were 
sealed  against  them  ;  they  were  consequently  left  to  igno- 
rance, and  its  inseparable  associate — vice.  All  those  noble 
principles  which  result  from  education,  and  which  lead 
youth  into  those  moral  footsteps  in  which  they  should  tread, 
were  made  criminal  in  the  Catholic  to  pursue,  and  impossi- 
ble to  attain  ;  and  having  thus  been  reduced  by  ignorance 
to  the  perpetration  of  those  crimes  which  it  uniformly  pro- 
duces— the  people  were  punished  for  that  which  oppressive 
laws  had  generated,  and  the  ignorance  which  was  forced 
upon  them  was  turned  into  a  penalty  and  a  persecution. 
They  were  first  made  ignorant  by  one  Act  of  Parliament, 
and  then  punished  by  another  for  those  crimes  which  igno- 
rance produces. 

14  And  now,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  it 
remains  for  me  to  take  another  view  of  the  state  and  condi- 
tion of  this  wretched  country.  Perhaps  there  is  not  in  the 
world  so  hideously  a  penal  code  of  laws  as  that  which  apper- 
tains to  the  civil  and  religious  rights  of  our  unfortunate  Ro- 
man Catholic  countrymen.  It  is  not  that  this»code  is  fierce, 
inhuman,  unchristian,  barbarous,  and  Draconic,  and  con- 
ceived in  a  spirit  of  blood — because  it  might  be  all  this,  and 
yet,  through  the  liberality  and  benevolence  of  those  into 
whose  hands  it  ought  to  be  entrusted  for  administration, 
much  of  its  dreadful  spirit  might  be  mitigated.  And  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  a  large  and  important  class  of  the  Protest- 
ant community  look  upon  such  a  code  nearly  with  as  much 
horror  as  the  Catholics  themselves.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, in  every  state  of  society  and  of  law  analogous  to  ours, 
a  certain  class  of  men,  say  rather  of  monsters,  is  sure  to 
spring  up,  as  it  were,  from  hell,  their  throats  still  parched 
and  heated  with  that  insatiable  thirst  which  the  guilty  glut- 
ton felt  before  them,  and  which  they  now  are  determined  to 


WILLY  RELLLY.  373 

slake  with  blood.  For  some  of  these  men  the  apology  of 
selfishness,  an  anxiety  to  raise  themselves  out  of  the  strug- 
gles of  genteel  poverty,  and  a  wolfish  wish  to  earn  the  wages 
of  oppression,  might  be  pleaded  ;  although,  heaven  knows, 
it  is  at  best  but  a  desperate  and  cowardly  apology.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  men  not  merely  independent,  but 
wealthy,  who,  imbued  with  a  fierce  and  unreasoning  big- 
otry, and  stained  by  a  black  and  unscrupulous  ambition, 
start  up  into  the  front  ranks  of  persecution,  and  carry  fire 
and  death  and  murder  as  they  go  along,  and  all  this  for  the 
sake  of  adding  to  their  reprobate  names  a  title — a  title 
earned  by  the  shedding  of  innocent  blood — a  title  earned  by 
the  oppression  and  persecution  of  their  unresisting  fellow- 
subjects — a  title,  perhaps  that  of  baronet  j  if  I  am  mistaken 
in  this,  the  individual  who  stands  before  you  in  that  dock 
could,  for  he  might,  set  me  right. 

11  In  fact,  who  are  those  who  have  lent  themselves  with 
such  delight  to  the  execution  of  bad  laws  ?  of  laws  that,  for 
the  sake  of  religion  and  Christianity,  never  ought  to  have 
been  enacted  ?  Are  they  men  of  moral  and  Christian  lives  ? 
men  whose  walk  has  been  edifying  in  the  sight  of  their  fel- 
lows ?  are  they  men  to  whom  society  could  look  up  as  ex- 
amples of  private  virtue  and  the  decorous  influence  of  relig- 
ion ?  are  they  men  who,  on  the  Sabbath  of  God,  repair  with 
their  wives  and  families  to  his  holy  worship  ?  Alas  !  no. 
These  heroic  persecutors,  who  hunt  and  punish  a  set  of  dis- 
armed men,  are,  in  point  of  fact,  not  only  a  disgrace  to  that 
religion  in  whose  name  they  are  persecutors,  and  on  whose 
merciful  precepts  they  trample,  but  to  all  religion,  in  what- 
ever light  true  religion  is  contemplated.  Vicious,  ignorant, 
profligate,  licentious,  but  cunning,  cruel,  bigoted,  and  sel- 
fish, they  make  the  spirit  of  oppressive  laws,  and  the  miser- 
able state  of  the  country,  the  harvest  of  their  gain.  Look 
more  closely  at  the  picture,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  make, 
as  I  am  sure  you  will,  the  dismal  and  terrible  circumstances 
which  I  will  lay  before  you  your  own.  Imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment that  those  who  are  now,  or  at  least  have  been,  the  ob- 
jects of  hot  and  blood-scenting  persecution,  had,  by  some 
political  revolution,  got  the  power  of  the  State  and  of  the 
laws  into  their  own  hands  ;  suppose,  for  it  is  easily  sup- 
posed, that  they  had  stripped  you  of  your  property,  de- 
prived you  of  your  civil  rights,  disarmed  you  of  the  means 


374  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

of  self-defence,  persecuted  yourselves  and  proscribed  your 
religion,  or,  vice  versa,  proscribed  yourselves  and  perse- 
cuted your  religion,  or,  to  come  at  once  to  the  truth,  pro- 
scribed and  persecuted  both  ;  suppose  your  churches  shut 
up,  your  pious  clergy  banished,  and  that,  when  on  the  bed 
of  sickness  or  of  death,  some  of  your  family,  hearing  your 
cries  for  the  consolations  of  religion,  ventured  out,  under 
the  clouds  of  the  night,  pale  with  sorrow,  and  trembling 
with  apprehension,  to  steal  for  you,  at  the  risk  of  life,  that 
comfort  which  none  but  a  minister  of  God  can  effectually 
bestow  upon  the  parting  spirit  ;  suppose  this,  and  suppose 
that  your  house  is  instantly  surrounded  by  some  cruel  but 
plausible  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  or  some  drunken  and 
ruffianly  Captain  Smellpriest,  who,  surrounded  and  sup- 
ported by  armed  miscreants,  not  only  breaks  open  that 
house,  but  violates  the  awful  sanctity  of  the  deathbed  itself, 
drags  out  the  minister  of  Christ  from  his  work  of  mercy, 
and  leaves  him  a  bloody  corpse  at  your  threshold.  I  say, 
change  places,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  suppose  in  your 
own  imaginations  that  all  those  monstrous  persecutions,  all 
those  murderous  and  flagitious  outrages,  had  been  inflicted 
upon  yourselves,  with  others  of  an  equally  nefarious  charac- 
ter ;  suppose  all  this,  and  you  may  easily  do  so,  for  you  have 
seen  it  all  perpetrated  in  the  name  of  God  and  the  law,  or, 
to  say  the  truth,  in  the  hideous  union  of  mammon  and  mur- 
der ;  suppose  all  this,  and  you  will  feel  what  such  men  as 
he  who  stands  in  that  dock  deserves  from  humanity  and 
natural  justice  ;  for,  alas  !  I  cannot  say,  from  the  laws  of 
his  country,  under  the  protection  of  which,  and  in  the  name 
of  which,  he  and  those  who  resemble  him  have  deluged  that 
country  with  innocent  blood,  laid  waste  the  cabin  of  the 
widow  and  the  orphan,  and  carried  death  and  desolation 
wherever  they  went.  But,  gentlemen,  I  shall  stop  here,  as 
I  do  not  wish  to  inflict  unnecessary  pain  upon  you,  even  by 
this  mitigated  view  of  atrocities  which  have  taken  place  be- 
fore your  own  eyes  ;  yet  I  cannot  close  this  portion  of  my 
address  without  referring  to  so  large  a  number  of  our  fellow- 
Protestants  with  pride,  as  I  am  sure  their  Roman  Catholic 
friends  do  with  gratitude.  Who  were  those  who,  among  the 
Protestant  party,  threw  the  shield  of  their  name  and  influ- 
ence over  their  Catholic  neighbors  and  friends  ?  Who,  need 
I  ask  ?     The  pious,  the  humane,  the  charitable,  the  liberal, 


WILLY  REILLY.  375 

the  benevolent,  and  the  enlightened.  Those  were  they 
who,  overlooking  the  mere  theological  distinctions  of  par- 
ticular doctrines,  united  in  the  great  and  universal  creed  of 
charity,  held  by  them  as  a  common  principle  on  which  they 
might  meet  and  understand  and  love  each  other.  And  in- 
deed, gentlemen  of  the  jury,  there  cannot  be  a  greater  proof 
of  the  oppressive  spirit  which  animates  this  penal  and  inhu- 
man code  than  the  fact  that  so  many  of  those,  for  whose 
benefit  it  was  enacted,  resisted  its  influence,  on  behalf  of 
their  Catholic  fellow-subjects,  as  far  as  they  could,  and  left 
nothing  undone  to  support  the  laws  of  humanity  against 
those  of  injustice  and  oppression.  When  the  persecuted 
Catholic  could  not  invest  his  capital  in  the  purchase  of  prop- 
erty, the  generous  Protestant  came  forward,  purchased  the 
property  in  his  own  name,  became  the  bona  fide  proprietor, 
and  then  transferred  its  use  and  advantages  to  his  Catholic 
friend.  And  again,  under  what  roof  did  the  hunted  Catho- 
lic priest  first  take  refuge  from  those  bloodhounds  of  perse- 
cution ?  In  most  cases  under  that  of  his  charitable  and  Chris- 
tian brother,  the  Protestant  clergyman.  Gentlemen,  could 
there  be  a  bitterer  libel  upon  the  penal  laws  than  the  notori- 
ous facts  which  I  have  the  honor  of  stating  to  you  ? 

"  The  facts  which  have  placed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  be- 
fore you  are  these,  and  in  detailing  them  I  feel  myself  placed 
in  circumstances  of  great  difficulty,  and  also  of  peculiar  deli- 
cacy. The  discharge,  however,  of  a  public  duty,  which 
devolves  upon  me  as  leading  law  officer  of  the  Crown,  forces 
me  into  a  course  which  I  cannot  avoid,  unless  I  should 
shrink  from  promoting  and  accomplishing  the  ends  of  public 
justice.  In  my  position,  and  in  the  discharge  of  my  solemn 
duties  here  to-day,  I  can  recognize  no  man's  rank,  no  man's 
wealth,  nor  the  prestige  of  any  man's  name.  So  long  as  he 
stands  at  that  bar,  charged  with  great  and  heinous  crimes,  I 
feel  it  my  duty  to  strip  him  of  all  the  advantages  of  his  birth 
and  rank,  and  consider  him  simply  a  mere  subject  of  the 
realm. 

11  In  order  to  show  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  animus 
under  which  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  acted,  in  the  case  before 
us,  I  must  go  back  a  little — a  period  of  some  months.  At 
that  time  a  highly  respectable  gentleman  of  an  ancient  and 
honored  family  in  this  country  was  one  evening  on  his  way 
home  from  this  town,   attended,   as  usual,  by  his  servant. 


3/6  WILLY  REILLY. 

At  a  lonely  place  on  a  remote  and  antiquated  road,  which 
they  took  as  a  shorter  way,  it  so  happened  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  sudden  mist  peculiar  to  those  wild  moors,  they 
lost  their  path,  and  found  themselves  in  circumstances  of 
danger  and  distress.  The  servant,  however,  whistled,  and 
his  whistle  was  answered  ;  a  party  of  men,  of  freebooters, 
of  robbers,  headed  by  a  person  called  the  Red  Rapparee, 
who  has  been  convicted  at  these  assizes,  and  who  has  been 
the  scourge  of  the  country  for  years,  came  up  to  them,  and 
as  the  Rapparee  had  borne  this  respectable  gentleman  a 
deadly  and  implacable  enmity  for  some  time  past,  he  was 
about  to  murder  both  master  and  man,  and  actually  had  his 
musket  levelled  at  him,  as  others  of  his  gang  had  at  his  aged 
servant,  when  a  person,  a  gentleman  named  Reilly — [here 
there  was  a  loud  cheer  throughout  the  court,  which,  how- 
ever, was  soon  repressed,  and  the  Attorney-General  pro- 
ceeded]— this  person  started  out  from  an  old  ruin,  met  the 
robber  face  to  face,  and,  in  short,  not  only  saved  the  lives 
of  the  gentleman  and  his  servant,  but  conducted  them  safely 
home.  This  act  of  courage  and  humanity,  by  a  Roman 
Catholic  to  a  Protestant,  had  such  an  effect  upon  the  old 
gentleman's  daughter,  a  lady  whose  name  has  gone  far  and 
wide  for  her  many  virtues  and  wonderful  beauty,  that  an 
attachment  was  formed  between  the  young  gentleman  and 
her.  The  prisoner  at  the  bar,  gentlemen,  was  a  suitor  for 
her  hand  ;  but  as  the  young  and  amiable  lady  was  ac- 
quainted with  his  character  as  a  priest-hunter  and  persecu- 
tor, she,  though  herself  a  Protestant,  could  look  upon  him 
only  with  abhorrence.  At  all  events,  after  the  rescue  of  her 
father's  life,  and  her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Reilly,  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar  was  rejected  with  disdain,  as  he  would  have 
been,  it  seems,  if  Reilly  never  had  existed.  Now,  gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  observe  that  Reilly  was  a  Catholic,  which 
was  bad  enough  in  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ;  but 
he  was  more  ;  he  was  a  rival,  and  were  it  not  for  the  state  of 
the  law,  would,  it  appears,  for  there  is  no  doubt  of  it  now, 
have  been  a  successful  one.  From  henceforth  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  marked  Mr.  Reilly  for  vengeance,  for  destruc- 
tion, for  death.  At  this  time  he  was  in  the  full  exercise  of 
irresponsible  authority  ;  he  could  burn,  hang,  shoot,  with- 
out being  called  to  account  ;  and  as  it  will  appear  before 
you,  gentlemen,  this  consciousness  of  impunity  stimulated 


WILLY  REILLY.  3/7 

him  to  the  perpetration  of  such  outrages  as,  in  civil  life, 
and  in  a  country  free  from  civil  war,  are  unparalleled  in  the 
annals  of  crime  and  cruelty. 

"  But,  gentlemen,  what  did  this  man  do  ?  this  man,  so 
anxious  to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  country  ;  this  man,  the 
terror  of  the  surrounding  districts  ;  what  did  he  do,  I  ask  ? 
Why,  he  took  the  most  notorious  robber  of  his  day,  the 
fierce  and  guilty  Rapparee — he  took  him  into  his  councils, 
in  order  that  he  might  enable  him  to  trace  the  object  of  his 
vengeance,  Reilly,  in  the  first  place,  and  to  lead  him  to  the 
hiding-places  of  such  unfortunate  Catholic  priests  as  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  caves  and  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 
Instead  of  punishing  this  notorious  malefactor,  he  took  him 
into  his  own  house,  made  him,  as  he  was  proud  to  call 
them,  one  of  his  pricstJiounds,  and  induced  him  to  believe 
that  he  had  procured  him  a  pardon  from  Government. 
Reilly' s  name  he  had,  by  his  foul  misrepresentations,  got 
into  the  Hue-and-Cry,  and  subsequently  had  him  gazetted  as 
an  outlaw  ;  and  all  this  upon  his  own  irresponsible  author- 
ity. I  mention  nothing,  gentlemen,  in  connection  with  this 
trial  which  we  are  not  in  a  capacity  to  prove. 

"  Having  forced  Reilly  into  a  variety  of  disguises,  and 
hunted  him  like  a  mad  dog  through  the  country  ;  having 
searched  every  lurking-place  in  which  he  thought  he  might 
find  him,  he  at  length  resolved  on  the  only  course  of  ven- 
geance he  could  pursue.  He  surrounded  his  habitation,  and, 
after  searching  for  Reilly  himself,  he  openly  robbed  him  of 
all  that  was  valuable  of  that  gentleman's  furniture,  then  set 
fire  to  the  house,  and  in  the  clouds  of  the  night  reduced  that 
and  every  out-office  he  had  to  ashes — a  capital  felony.  It 
so  happens,  however,  that  the  house  and  offices  were,  in 
point  of  fact,  not  the  property  of  Reilly  at  all,  but  of  a 
most  respectable  Protestant  gentleman  and  magistrate,  Mr. 
Hastings,  with  whose  admirable  character  I  have  no  doubt 
you  are  all  acquainted  ;  and  all  that  remains  for  me  to  say 
is,  that  he  is  the  prosecutor  in  this  case. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,  we  expect  a  calm,  deliberate,  and 
unbiassed  verdict  from  you.  Look  upon  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  as  an  innocent  man  until  you  can,  with  a  clear  con- 
science, find  him  guilty  of  the  charges  which  we  are  in  a 
condition  to  prove  against  him  ;  but  if  there  be  any  doubt 
upon  your  minds,  I  hope  you  will  give  him  the  benefit  of  it." 


37s  WILLY  REILLY. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  in  fact,  had  no  defence,  and  could 
procure  no  witnesses  to  counteract  the  irresistible  body  of 
evidence  that  was  produced  against  him.  Notwithstanding 
all  this,  his  friends  calculated  upon  the  prejudices  of  a  Pro- 
testant jury.  His  leading  counsel  made  as  able  a  speech  in 
his  defence  as  could  be  made  under  the  circumstances.  It 
consisted,  however,  of  vague  generalities,  and  dwelt  upon 
the  state  of  the  country  and  the  necessity  that  existed  for 
men  of  great  spirit  and  Protestant  feeling  to  come  out 
boldly,  and,  by  courage  and  energy,  carry  the  laws  that  had 
passed  for  the  suppression  of  Popery  into  active  and  whole- 
some operation.  "  Those  laws  were  passed  by  the  wisest 
and  ablest  assembly  of  legislators  in  the  world,  and  to  what 
purpose  could  legislative  enactments  for  the  preservation  of 
Protestant  interests  be  passed  if  men  of  true  faith  and  loy- 
alty could  not  be  found  to  carry  them  into  effect.  There 
we're  the  laws  ;  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  did  not  make  those 
laws,  and  if  he  was  invested  with  authority  to  carry  them 
into  operation,  what  did  he  do  but  discharge  a  wholesome 
and  important  duty  ?  The  country  was  admitted,  on  all 
sides,  to  be  in  a  disturbed  state  ;  Popery  was  attempting  for 
years  most  insidiously  to  undermine  the  Protestant  Church, 
and  to  sap  the  foundation  of  all  Protestant  interests  ;  and 
if,  by  a  pardonable  excess  of  zeal,  of  zeal  in  the  right  direc- 
tion, and  unconscious  lapse  in  the  discharge  of  what  he 
would  call,  those  noble  but  fearful  duties  had  occurred,  was 
it  for  those  who  had  a  sense  of  true  liberty,  and  a  manly 
detestation  of  Romish  intrigue  at  heart,  to  visit  that  upon 
the  head  of  a  true  and  loyal  man  as  a  crime.  Forbid  it,  the 
spirit  of  the  British  Constitution — forbid  it,  heaven — forbid 
it,  Protestantism.     No,  gentleman  of  the  jury,"  etc.,  etc. 

We  need  not  go  further,  because  we  have  condensed  in 
the  few  sentences  given  the  gist  of  all  he  said. 

"W  hen  the  case  was  closed,  the  jury  retired  to  their  room, 
and  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft' s  fate  depends  upon  their  ver- 
dict, we  will  be  kind  enough  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  open 
sesame  of  our  poor  imagination  to  introduce  our  readers  in- 
visibly into  the  jury-room. 

"Now,''  said  the  foreman,  ''what's  to  be  done?  Are 
we  to  sacrifice  a  Protestant  champion  to  Popery  ?" 

"To  Popery!  To  the  deuce,"  replied  another.  "It's 
not  Pjpery  that  is  prosecuting  him.     Put  down  Popery  by 


WILLY  REILLY.  379 

argument,  by  fair  argument,  but  don't  murder  those  that 
profess  it,  in  cold  blood.  As  the  Attorney-General  said,  let 
us  make  it  our  own  case,  and  if  the  Papishes  treated  us  as 
we  have  treated  them,  what  would  we  say  ?  By  jingo,  I'll 
hang  that  fellow.  He's  a  Protestant  champion,  they  say  ; 
but  I  say  he's  a  Protestant  bloodhound,  and  a  cowardly  ras- 
cal to  boot." 

11  How  is  he  a  cowardly  rascal,  Bob  ?  Hasn't  he  proved 
himself  a  brave  man  against  the  Papishes  ?  eh  ?" 

V  A  brave  man  !  deuce  thank  him  for  being  a  brave  man 
against  poor  devils  that  are  allowed  nothing  stouter  than  a 
horse-rod  to  defend  themselves  with — when  he  has  a  party 
of  well-armed  bloodhounds  at  his  back.  He's  the  worst 
landlord  in  Ireland,  and,  above  all  things,  he's  a  tyrant  to 
his  Protestant  tenants,  this  champion  of  Protestantism. 
Ay,  and  fierce  as  he  is  against  Popery,  there's  not  a  Papish 
tenant  on  his  estate  that  he's  not  like  a  father  to." 

"  And  how  the  deuce  do  you  know  that  ?" 

11  Because  I  was  head  bailiff  to  him  for  ten  years." 

11  But  doesn't  all  the  world  know  that  he  hates  the  Pa- 
pists, and  would  have  them  massacred  if  he  could  ?" 

"  And  so  he  does — and  so  he  would  ;  but  it's  all  his  cow- 
ardice, because  he's  afraid  that  if  he  was  harsh  to  his  Popish 
tenants  some  of  them  might  shoot  him  from  behind  a  hedge 
some  fine  night,  and  give  him  a  leaden  bullet  for  his  sup- 
per." 

"  I  know  he's  a  coward,"  observed  another,  "  because  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  horsewhipped  by  Major  Bingham,  and 
didn't  call  him  out  for  it." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  another,  "  it  was  made  up  by  their 
friends  ;  but  what's  to  be  done  ?  All  the  evidence  is 
against  him,  and  we  are  on  our  oaths  to  find  a  verdict  ac- 
cording to  the  evidence." 

"  Evidence  be  hanged,"  said  another  ;  "  I'll  sit  here  till 
doom's-day  before  I  find  him  guilty.  Are  we,  that  are  all 
loyal  Protestants,  to  bring  out  a  varjuice  to  please  the 
Papishes  ?  Oh,  no,  faith  ;  but  here's  the  thing,  gentlemen  ; 
mark  me  j  here  now,  I  take  off  my  shoes,  and  I'll  ait  them 
before  I  find  him  guilty  ;"  and  as  he  spoke  he  deliberately 
slipped  of  his  shoes,  and  placed  them  on  the  table,  ready  for 
his  tough  and  loyal  repast. 

11  By  Gog,"  said  another,    "  I'll  hang  him,  in    spite  of 


3§j  WILLY  REILLY. 

your  teeth  ;  and,  afther  aiten  your  brogues,  you  may  go  bare- 
footed if  you  like,  /have  brogues  to  ait  as  well  as  you,  and 
one  of  mine  is  as  big  as  two  of  yours." 

This  was  followed  by  a  chorus  of  laughter,  after  which 
they  began  to  consider  the  case  before  them,  like  admirable 
and  well-reasoning  jurors,  as  they  were.  Two  hours  passed 
in  wrangling  and  talking  and  recriminating,  when,  at  last, 
one  of  them,  striking  the  table,  exclaimed  with  an  oath  : 

11  All  Europe  won't  save  the  villain.  Didn't  he  seduce 
my  sister's  daughter,  and  then  throw  her  and  her  child  back, 
with  shame  and  disgrace,  on  the  family,  without  support  ?" 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  the  owner  of  the  shoe,  holding  it 
up  triumphantly  ;  "  that's  my  supper  to-night,  and  my 
argument  in  his  defence.  I  say  our  Protestant  champion 
mustn't  hang,  at  least  until  I  starve  first." 

The  other,  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  put  his  hand  across 
the  table,  and  snatching  the  shoe,  struck  its  owner  between 
the  two  eyes  with  it  and  knocked  him  back  on  the  floor.  A 
scene  of  uproar  took  place,  which  lasted  for  some  minutes, 
but  at  length,  by  the  influence  of  the  foreman,  matters  were 
brought  to  a  somewhat  amicable  issue.  In  this  way  they 
spent  the  time  for  a  few  hours  more,  when  one  of  the  usual 
messengers  came  to  know  if  they  had  agreed  ;  but  he  was 
instantly  dismissed  to  a  very  warm  settlement,  with  the 
assurance  that  they  had  not. 

11  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  pulling  out  a  pack  of  cards, 
"  let  us  amuse  ourselves  at  any  rate.  Who's  for  a  hand  at 
the  Spoil  Five?" 

The  cards  were  looked  upon  as  a  godsend,  and  in  a  few 
moments  one  half  the  jury  were  busily  engaged  at  that  in- 
teresting game.  The  other  portion  of  them  amused  them- 
selves, in  the  meantime,  as  well  as  they  could. 

"  Tom,"  said  one  of  them,  "  were  you  ever  on  a  special 
jury  in  a  revenue  case  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Tom,  "  never.     Is  there  much  fun  ?" 

11  The  devil's  own  fun  ;  because  if  we  find  for  the  de- 
fendant, he's  sure  to  give  us  a  splendid  feed.  But  do  you 
know  how  we  manage  when  we  find  that  we  can't  agree  ?" 

"  No.     How  is  it  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  when  the  case  is  too  clear  against  him, 
and  that  to  find  for  him  would  be  too  barefaced,  we  get 
every  man  to  mark  down  on  a  slip  of  paper  the  least  amount 


WILLY  REILLY.  381 

of  damages  he  is  disposed  to  give  against  him  ;  when 
they're  all  down,  we  tot  them  up,  and  divide  by  twelve — "  * 

"  Silence,"  said  another,  "  till  we  hear  John  Dickson's 
song." 

The  said  John  Dickson  was  at  the  time  indulging  them 
ivith  a  comic  song,  which  was  encored  with  roars  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"  Hallo  !"  shouted  one  of  those  at  the  cards,  "  here's 
Jack  Brereton  has  prigged  the  ace  of  hearts." 

"  Oh,  gentlemen,"  said  Jack,  who  was  a  greater  knave  at 
the  cards  than  any  in  the  pack,  ' '  upon  my  honor,  gentle- 
men, you  wrong  me." 

11  There — he  has  dropped  it,"  said  another  ;  "  look  under 
the  table." 

The  search  was  made,  and  up  was  lugged  the  redoubtable 
ace  of  hearts  from  under  one  of  Jack's  feet,  who  had 
hoped,  by  covering  it,  to  escape  detection.  Detected,  how- 
ever, he  was,  and,  as  they  all  knew  him  well,  the  laughter 
was  loud  accordingly,  and  none  of  them  laughed  louder 
than  Jack  himself. 

11  Jack,"  said  another  of  them,  "  let  us  have  a  touch  of 
the  legerdemain." 

"Gentlemen,  attention,"  said  Jack.  "Will  any  of  you 
lend  me  a  halfpenny  ?" 

This  was  immediately  supplied  to  him,  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  stick  it  on  his  forehead — although  there  had 
been  brass  enough  there  before— to  which  it  appeared  to 
have  been  glued  ;  after  a  space  he  took  it  off  and  placed  it 
in  the  palm  of  his  right  hand,  which  he  closed,  and  then, 
extending  both  his  hands,  shut,  asked  those  about  him  in 
which  hand  it  was.  Of  course  they  all  said  in  the  right  ; 
but,  upon  Jack's  opening  the  said  hand,  there  was  no  half- 
penny there. 

In  this  way  they  discussed  a  case  of  life  or  death,  until 
another  knock  came,  which  "  knock"  received  the  same  an- 
swer as  before. 

"Faith,"  said  a  powerful-looking  farmer  from  near  the 
town  of  Boyle — the  very  picture  of  health,  "  if  they  don't 
soon  let  us  out  I'll  get  sick.  It's  I  that  always  does  the 
sickness  for  the  jury  when  we're  kept  in  too  long." 

*  By  no  means  an  uncommon  proceeding  in  revenue  cases,  even 
at  the  present  day. 


3S2  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Why,  then,  Billy  Bradley,"  asked  one  of  them,  "  how 
could  you,  of  all  men  living,  sham  sickness  on  a  doctor .?" 

"Because,"  said  Billy,  with  a  grin,  "I'm  beginning  to 
feel  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head,  for  want  of  a  beef- 
steak and  a  pot  o'  porther.  My  father  and  grandfather 
both  died  of  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head." 

"  I  rather  think,"  observed  another,  "  that  they  died  by 
taking  their  divarsion  at  the  beefsteak  and  the  pot  of  por- 
ter." 

11  No  matther, "  said  Billy,  "  they  died  at  all  events,  and 
so  will  we  all,  plaise  God." 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "  there  is  Jack  Brereton  and 
his  cane — let  us  come  to  business.  What  do  you  say,  Jack, 
as  to  the  prisoner  ?" 

Jack  at  the  time* had  the  aforesaid  cane  between  his  legs, 
over  which  he  was  bent  like  a  bow,  with  the  head  of  it  in 
his  mouth. 

"  Are  you  all  agreed  ?"  asked  Jack. 

"  All  for  a  verdict  of  guilty,  with  the  exception  of  this 
fellow  and  his  shoes. 

Jack  Brereton  was  a  handsome  old  fellow,  with  a  red 
face  and  a  pair  of  watery  eyes  ;  he  was  a  little  lame,  and 
hirpled  as  he  walked,  in  consequence  of  a  hip  complaint, 
which  he  got  by  a  fall  from  a  jaunting-car  ;  but  he  was  now 
steady  enough,  except  the  grog. 

"Jack,  what  do  you  say?"  asked  the  foreman;  "it's 
time  to  do  something." 

"  Why,  "replied  Jack,  "  the  scoundrel  engaged  me  to  put 
down  a  pump  for  him,  and  I  did  it  in  such  a  manner  as  was 
a  credit  to  his  establishment.  To  be  sure,  he  wanted  the 
water  to  come  whenever  it  was  asked  ;  but  I  told  him  that 
that  wasn't  my  system  ;  that  I  didn't  want  to  make  a  good 
thing  too  cheap  ;  but  that  the  water  would  come  in  genteel 
time — that  is  to  say,  whenever  they  didn't  want  it  ;  and 
faith  the  water  bore  me  out."  And  here  Jack  laughed 
heartily.  "  But  no  matter,"  proceeded  Jack,  "  he's  only  a 
bujeen  ;  sure  it  was  his  mother  nursed  me.  Where's  that 
fellow  that's  going  to  eat  his  shoes  ?  Here,  Xed  Wilson, 
you  flaming  Protestant,  I  have  neither  been  a  grand  juror 
nor  a  petty  juror  of  the  county  of  Sligo  for  nothing.  Where 
are  you  ?  Take  my  cane,  place  it  between  your  knees  as 
you  saw  me  do,  put  your  mouth  down  to  the  head  of  ir, 


WILLY  RELLLY.  383 

suck  up  with  all  your  strength,  and  you'll  find  that  God  will 
give  you  sense  afterwards." 

Wilson,  who  had  taken  such  a  fancy  for  eating  his  shoes, 
in  order  to  show  his  loyalty,  was  what  is  called  a  hard-goer, 
and  besides  a  great  friend  of  Jack's.  At  all  events,  he  fol- 
lowed his  advice — put  the  head  of  the  huge  cane  into  his 
mouth,  and  drew  up  accordingly.  The  cane,  in  fact,  was 
hollow  all  through,  and  contained  about  three  half-pints  of 
strong  whiskey.  There  was  some  wrangling  with  the  man 
for  a  little  time  after  this  ;  but  at  length  he  approached 
Jack,  and  handing  him  the  empty  cane,  said  : 

"  What's  your  opinion,  Jack  ?" 

"Why,  we  must  hang  him,"  replied  Jack.  "He  de- 
frauded me  in  the  pump  ;  and  I  ask  you  did  you  ever  put 
your  nose  to  a  better  pump  than  thatV  * 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Jack,  we're  agreed — he  swings  !" 

At  this  moment  an  officer  came  to  ask  the  same  question, 
when,  in  reply,  the  twelve  jurymen  came  out,  and,  amidst 
the  most  profound  silence,  the  foreman  handed  down  the 
issue  paper  to  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown. 

11  Gentlemen,"  said  that  officer,  after  having  cast  his  eye 
over  it,  "  have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict  ?" 

"  We  have." 

"  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?" 

11  Guilty  !" 

Let  us  pause  here  a  moment,  and  reflect  upon  the  precari- 
ous tenure  of  life,  as  it  is  frequently  affected  by  such  scenes 
as  the  above,  in  the  administration  of  justice.  Here  was  a 
criminal  of  the  deepest  dye,  shivering  in  the  dock  with  the 
natural  apprehension  of  his  fate,  but  supported,  notwith- 
standing, by  the  delay  of  the  jury  in  coming  to  a  verdict. 
He  argued  reasonably  enough,  that  in  consequence  of  that 
very  delay  he  must  necessarily  have  friends  among  them 
who  would  hold  out  to  the  last.  The  state  of  suspense, 
however,  in  which  he  was  held  must  have  been,  and  was, 
dreadful.     His  lips  and  throat  became  parched  by  excite- 

*  We  have  been  taken  to  task  about  this  description  of  the  jury- room  ; 
but  we  believe,  and  have  good  reason  to  believe,  that  every  circum- 
stance mentioned  in  it  is  a  fact.  Do  our  readers  remember  the  his- 
tory of  Orr's  trial, where  three  fourths  of  the  jurors  who  convicted  him 
were  drunk — a  fact  to  which  they  themselves  confirmed  upon  oath 
afterwards  ? 


334  WILLY  REILLY. 

mcnt,  and  he  was  obliged  to  drink  three  or  four  glasses  of 
water.  Being  unable  to  stand,  he  was  accommodated  with 
a  chair,  on  which,  while  he  sat,  the  perspiration  flowed  from 
his  pallid  face.  Yet,  with  the  exception  of  his  own  clique, 
there  was  scarcely  an  individual  present  who  did  not  hope 
that  this  trial  would  put  an  end  to  his  career  of  blood.  Af- 
ter all,  there  was  something  of  the  retributive  justice  of 
Providence  even  in  the  conduct  and  feelings  of  the  jury  ; 
for,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  more  on  account  of  his  private 
crimes  and  private  infamy  that  they,  however  wrongly, 
brought  in  their  verdict.  Here  was  he,  encircled  by  their 
knowledge  of  his  own  iniquities,  apart  from  his  public  acts  ; 
and  there,  standing  in  that  dock,  from  which  he  might  have 
gone  out  free,  so  far  as  regarded  his  political  exploits,  he 
found,  although  he  did  not  know  it,  the  black  weight  of  his 
private  vices  fall  upon  his  head  in  the  shape  of  the  verdict 
just  delivered.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  his  ap- 
pearance on  hearing  it  ;  his  head  fell  down  upon  his  breast 
listless,  helpless,  and  with  a  character  of  despair  that  was 
painful  to  contemplate. 

When  the  verdict  was  handed  down,  the  judge  immedi- 
ately put  on  the  black-cap  ;  but  Whitecraft's  head  was  rest- 
ing on  his  breast,  and  he  did  not  for  some  time  see  it.  At 
length,  stirred  into  something  like  life  by  the  accents  of  the 
judge,  he  raised  his  head  with  an  effort.  The  latter  ad- 
dressed him  as  thus  : 

"Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  you  have  been  convicted  this 
day  by  as  enlightened  a  jury  as  ever  sat  in  a  jury-box.  You 
must  be  aware  yourself,  by  the  length  of  time,  and  conse- 
quently the  deep  and  serious  investigation  which  they  be- 
stowed—and, it  is  evident,  painfully  bestowed— upon  your 
unhappy  case,  that  your  conviction  is  the  deliberate  result 
of  their  conscientious  opinion.  It  is  obvious,  as  I  said, 
from  the  length  of  time  occupied  in  the  jury-room,  that  the 
evidence  in  your  case  was  sifted  closely,  and  canvassed  with 
the  ability  and  experience  of  able  and  honest  men.  In  the 
verdict  they  have  returned  the  Court  perfectly  concurs  ;  and 
it  now  only  remains  forme  to  pass  upon  you  that  awful  sen- 
tence of  the  law  which  is  due  to  your  cruel  life  and  flagitious 
crimes.  Were  you  a  man  without  education,  nurtured  in 
ignorance,  and  the  slave  of  its  debasing  consequences,  some 
shade  of  compassion  might  be  felt  for  you  on  that  account. 


WILLY  REILLY.  385 

But  you  cannot  plead  this  ;  you  cannot  plead  poverty,  or 
that  necessity  which  urges  many  a  political  adventurer  to 
come  out  as  a  tyrant  and  oppressor  upon  his  fellow-subjects, 
under  the  shield  of  the  law,  and  in  the  corrupt  expectation 
of  reward  or  promotion.  You  were  not  only  independent 
in  your  own  circumstances,  but  you  possessed  great  wealth  ; 
and  why  you  should  shape  yourself  such  an  awful  course  of 
crime  can  only  be  attributed  to  a  heart  naturally  fond  of 
persecution  and  blood.  I  cannot,  any  more  than  the  learned 
Attorney-General,  suffer  the  privileges  of  rank,  wealth,  or 
position  to  sway  me  from  the  firm  dictates  of  justice.  You 
imagined  that  the  law  would  connive  at  you — and  it  did  so 
too  long,  but,  believe  me,  the  sooner  or  later  it  will  abandon 
the  individual  that  has  been  provoking  it,  and,  like  a  tiger 
when  goaded  beyond  patience,  will  turn  and  tear  its  victim 
to  pieces.  It  remains  for  me  now  to  pronounce  the  awful 
sentence  of  the  law  upon  y  ou  ;  but  before  I  do  so,  let  me 
entreat  you  to  turn  your  heart  to  that  Being  who  will  never 
refuse  mercy  to  a  repentant  sinner  ;  and  I  press  this  upon 
you  the  more  because  you  need  not  entertain  the  slightest 
expectation  of  finding  it  in  this  world.  In  order,  therefore, 
that  you  may  collect  and  compose  your  mind  for  the  great 
event  that  is  before  you,  I  will  allow  you  four  days,  in  order 
that  you  may  make  a  Christian  use  of  your  time,  and  pre- 
pare your  spirit  for  a  greater  tribunal  than  this.  The  sen- 
tence of  the  Court  is  that,  on  the  fifth  day  after  this,  you  be, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.;  and  may  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul !" 

At  first  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  Court,  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  audience  was  taken  completely  by  surprise  on 
hearing  both  the  verdict  and  the  sentence.  At  length  a 
deep,  condensed  murmur,  which  rose  by  degrees  into  a  yell 
of  execration,  burst  forth  from  his  friends,  whilst,  on  the 
other  hand,  a  peal  of  cheers  and  acclamations  rang  so  loudly 
through  the  court  that  they  completely  drowned  the  indig- 
nant vociferations  of  the  others.  In  the  meantime  silence 
was  restored,  and  it  was  found  that  the  convict  had  been 
removed  during  the  confusion  to  one  of  the  condemned 
cells.  "What  now  were  his  friends  to  do  ?  AYas  it  possible 
to  take  any  steps  by  which  he  might  yet  be  saved  from  such 
a  disgraceful  death  ?  Pressed  as  they  were  for  time,  they 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  only  chance  existing  in  his 
favor  was  for  a  deputation  of  as  many  of  the  leading  Pro- 


3§6  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

testants  of  the  county,  as  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  join  in 
the  measure,  to  proceed  to  Dublin  without  delay.  Imme- 
diately, therefore,  after  the  trial,  a  meeting  of  the  baronet's 
friends  was  held  in  the  head  inn  of  Sligo,  where  the  matter 
was  earnestly  discussed.  Whitecraft  had  been  a  man  of  pri- 
vate and  solitary  enjoyments — in  social  and  domestic  life,  as 
cold,  selfish,  inhospitable,  and  repulsive  as  he  was  cruel 
and  unscrupulous  in  his  public  career.  The  consequence 
was  that  he  had  few  personal  friends  of  either  rank  or  influ- 
ence, and  if  the  matter  had  rested  upon  his  own  personal 
character  and  merits  alone,  he  would  have  been  left,  with- 
out an  effort,  to  the  fate  which  had  that  day  been  pro- 
nounced upon  him.  The  consideration  of  the  matter,  how- 
ever, was  not  confined  to  himself  as  an  individual,  but  to 
the  Protestant  party  at  large,  and  his  conviction  was  looked 
upon  as  a  Popish  triumph.  On  this  account  many  persons 
of  rank  and  influence,  who  would  not  otherwise  have  taken 
any  interest  in  his  fate,  came  forward  for  the  purpose,  if 
possible,  of  defeating  the  Popish  party — who,  by  the  way, 
had  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  in  promoting  his  conviction 
— and  of  preventing  the  stigma  and  deep  disgrace  which  his 
execution  would  attach  to  their  own.  A  very  respectable 
deputation  was  consequently  formed,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  next  day  proceeded  to  Dublin,  to  urge  their  claims  in 
his  favor  with  the  Lord  Lieutenant.  This  nobleman,  though 
apparently  favorable  to  the  Catholic  people,  was  neverthe- 
less personally  and  secretly  a  bitter  enemy  to  them.  The 
state  policy  which  he  was  instructed  and  called  upon  to  ex- 
ercise in  their  favor  differed  toto  ccelo  from  his  own  impres- 
sions. He  spoke  to  them,  however,  sweetly  and  softly, 
praised  them  for  their  forbearance,  and  made  large  promises 
in  their  favor,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  he  entertained  no 
intention  of  complying  with  their  request. 

The  deputation,  on  arriving  at  the  castle,  ascertained,  to 
their  mortification,  that  the  viceroy  would  not  be  at  home 
until  the  following  day,  having  spent  the  last  week  with  a 
nobleman  in  the  neighborhood  ;  they  were  consequently 
obliged  to  await  his  arrival.  After  his  return  they  were  ad- 
mitted to  an  audience,  in  which  they  stated  their  object  in 
waiting  upon  him,  and  urged  with  great  earnestness  the 
necessity  of  arresting  the  fate  of  such  a  distinguished  Protes- 
tant as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  after  which  they  entered  into 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  387 

a  long  statement  of  the  necessity  that  existed  for  such  active 
and  energetic  men  in  the  then  peculiar  and  dangerous  state 
of  the  country. 

To  all  this,  however,  he  replied  with  great  suavity,  assur- 
ing them  that  no  man  felt  more  anxious  to  promote  Protest- 
ant interests  than  he  did,  and  added  that  the  relaxation  of 
the  laws  against  the  Catholics  was  not  so  much  the  result  of 
his  own  personal  policy  or  feeling  as  the  consequence  of 
the  instructions  he  had  received  from  the  English  Cabinet. 
He  would  be  very  glad  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  the 
deputation  if  he  could,  but  at  present  it  was  impossible. 
This  man's  conduct  was  indefensible  ;  for,  not  content  in 
carrying  out  the  laws  against  the  Catholics  with  unnecessary 
rigor,  he  committed  a  monstrous  outrage  against  a  French 
subject  of  distinction,  in  consequence  of  which  the  French 
Court,  through  their  Ambassador  in  London,  insisted  upon 
his  punishment. 

"  Very  well,  my  lord,"  replied  the  spokesman  of  the  depu- 
tation, "  I  beg  to  assure  you,  that  if  a  hair  of  this  man's 
head  is  injured  there  will  be  a  massacre  of  the  Popish  popu- 
lation before  two  months  ;  and  I  beg  also  to  let  you  know, 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  English  Cabinet,  that  they  may 
embroil  themselves  with  France,  or  get  into  whatever  politi- 
cal embarrassment  they  please,  but  an  Irish  Protestant  will 
never  hoist  a  musket,  or  draw  a  sword,  in  their  defence. 
Gentlemen,  let  us  bid  his  Excellency  a  good-morning." 

This  was  startling  language,  as  the  effect  proved,  for  it 
startled  the  viceroy  into  a  compliance  with  their  wishes, 
and  they  went  home  post-haste,  in  order  that  the  pardon 
might  arrive  in  time. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

RUMOR     OF     COOLEEN     BAWN's     TREACHERY — HOW     IT     AP- 
PEARS— REILLY    STANDS    HIS    TRIAL — CONCLUSION. 

LIFE,  they  say,  is  a  life  of  trials,  and  so  may  it  be  said 
of  this  tale — at  least  of  the  conclusion  of  it  ;  for  we 
feel  that  it  devolves  upon  us  once  more  to  solicit  the  pres- 


383  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

ence  of  our  readers  to  the  same  prison  in  which  the  Red 
Rapparee  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  received  their  sentence 
of  doom. 

As  it  is  impossible  to  close  the  mouth  or  to  silence  the 
tongue  of  fame,  so  we  may  assure  our  readers,  as  we  have 
before,  that  the  history  of  the  loves  of  those  two  celebrated 
individuals,  to  wit,  Willy  Reilly  and  the  far-famed  Cooleen 
Bawn,  had  given  an  interest  to  the  coming  trial  such  as  was 
never  known  within  the  memory  of  man,  at  that  period,  nor 
perhaps  equalled  since.  The  Red  Rapparee,  Sir  Robert 
W hitecraft,  and  all  the  other  celebrated  villains  of  that  time, 
have  nearly  perished  out  of  tradition  itself,  whilst  those  of 
our  hero  and  heroine  are  still  fresh  in  the  feelings  of  the 
Connaught  and  Northern  peasantry,  at  whose  hearths,  dur- 
ing the  winter  evenings,  the  rude  but  fine  old  ballad  that 
commemorated  that  love  is  still  sung  with  sympathy,  and 
sometimes,  as  we  can  testify,  with  tears.  This  is  fame. 
One  circumstance,  however,  which  deepened  the  interest  felt 
by  the  people,  told  powerfully  against  the  consistency  of  the 
Cooleen  Bawn,  which  was,  that  she  had  resolved  to  come 
forward  that  day  to  bear  evidence  against  her  lover.  Such 
was  the  general  impression  received  from  her  father,  and  the 
attorney  Doldrum,  who  conducted  the  trial  against  Reilly, 
although  our  readers  are  well  aware  that  on  this  point  they 
spoke  without  authority.  The  governor  of  the  prison,  on 
going  that  morning  to  conduct  him  to  the  bar,  said  : 

"lam  sorry,  Mr.  Reilly,  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news  ; 
but  as  the  knowledge  of  it  may  be  serviceable  to  you  or  your 
lawyers,  I  think  I  ought  to  mention  it  to  you." 

11  Pray,  what  is  it  ?"  asked  Reilly. 

1 '  Why,  sir,  it  is  said  to  be  a  fact  that  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
has  proved  false  and  treacherous,  and  is  coming  this  day  to 
bear  her  testimony  against  you." 

Reilly  replied,  with  a  smile  of  confidence,  which  the  dark- 
ness of  the  room  prevented  the  other  from  seeing,  "  Well, 
Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  even  if  she  does,  it  cannot  be  helped  ; 
have  you  heard  what  the  nature  of  her  evidence  is  likely  to 
be?" 

"  No  ;  it  seems  her  father  and  Doldrum  the  attorney 
asked  her,  and  she  would  not  tell  them  ;  but  she  said  she  had 
made  her  mind  up  to  attend  the  trial  and  see  justice  done. 
Don't  be  cast  down,  Mr.  Reilly,  though,  upon  my  soul,  I 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  389 

think  she  ought  to  have  stood  it  out  in  your  favor  to  the 
last." 

"  Come,"  said  Reilly,  "I  am  ready  ;  time  will  tell,  Mr. 
O'Shaughnessy,  and  a  short  time  too  ;  a  few  hours  now,  and 
all  will  know  the  result." 

11  I  hope  in  God  it  may  be  in  your  favor,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  Thank  you,  O'Shaughnessy  ;  lead  on  ;  I  am  ready  to 
attend  you." 

The  jail  was  crowded  even  to  suffocation  ;  but  this  was 
not  all.  The  street  opposite  the  jail  was  nearly  as  much 
crowded  as  the  jail  itself,,  a  moving,  a  crushing  mass  of 
thousands  having  been  collected  to  abide  and  hear  the  issue. 
It  was  with  great  difficulty,  and  not  without  the  aid  of  a 
strong  military  force,  that  a  way  could  be  cleared  for  the 
judge  as  he  approached  the  prison.  The  crowd  was  silent 
and  passive,  but  in  consequence  of  the  report  that  the  Coo- 
ken  Baum  was  to  appear  against  Reilly,  a  profound  melan- 
choly and  an  expression  of  deep  sorrow  seemed  to  brood 
over  it.  Immediately  after  the  judge's  carriage  came  that 
of  the  squire,  who  was  accompanied  by  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Brown,  and  Mrs.  Hastings,  for  Helen  had  insisted  that  her 
father  should  procure  their  attendance.  A  private  room  in 
the  prison  had,  by  previous  arrangement,  been  prepared  for 
them,  and  to  this  they  were  conducted  by  a  back  way,  so  as 
to  avoid  the  crushing  of  the  crowd.  It  was  by  this  way 
also  that  the  judge  and  lawyers  entered  the  body  of  the 
court-house,  without  passing  through  the  congregated  mass. 

At  length  the  judge,  having  robed  himself,  took  his  seat 
on  the  bench,  and,  on  casting  his  eye  over  the  court-house, 
was  astonished  at  the  dense  multitude  that  stood  before  him. 
On  looking  at  the  galleries,  he  saw  that  they  were  crowded 
with  ladies  of  rank  and  fashion.  Every  thing  having  been 
now  ready,  the  lawyers,  each  with  his  brief  before  him,  and 
each  with  a  calm,  but  serious  and  meditative  aspect,  the 
Clerk  of  the  Crown  cried  out,  in  a  voice  which  the  hum 
of  the  crowd  rendered  necessarily  loud  : 

11  Mr.  Jalier,  put  William  Reilly  to  the  bar." 

At  that  moment  a  stir,  a  murmur,  especially  among  the 
ladies  in  the  gallery,  and  a  turning  of  faces  in  the  direction 
of  the  bar,  took  place  as  Reilly  came  forward,  and  stood 
erect  in  front  of  the  judge.  The  very  moment  he  made  his 
appearance  all  eyes  were  fastened  on  him,  and  whatever  the 


390  WILLY  REILLY. 

prejudices  may  have  been  against  the  Coolecn  Bawn  for  fall- 
ing in  love  with  a  Papist,  that  moment  of  his  appearance 
absolved  her  from  all — from  every  thing.  A  more  noble  or 
majestic  figure  never  stood  at  that  or  any  other  bar.  In  the 
very  prime  of  manhood,  scarcely  out  of  youth,  with  a  figure 
like  that  of  Antinous,  tall,  muscular,  yet  elegant,  brown  hair 
of  the  richest  shade,  a  lofty  forehead,  features  of  the  most 
manly  cast,  but  exquisitely  formed,  and  eyes  which,  but  for 
the  mellow  softness  of  their  expression,  an  eagle  might  have 
envied  for  their  transparent  brilliancy.  The  fame  of  his 
love  for  the  Coolecn  Bawn  had  come  before  him.  The  judge 
surveyed  him  with  deep  interest  ;  so  did  every  eye  that  could 
catch  a  view  of  his  countenance  ;  but,  above  all,  were  those 
in  the  gallery  riveted  upon  him  with  a  degree  of  interest — 
and,  now  that  they  had  seen  him,  of  sympathy — which  we 
shall  not  attempt  to  describe.  Some  of  them  were  so  deeply 
affected  that  they  could  not  suppress  their  tears,  which,  by 
the  aid  of  their  handkerchiefs,  they  endeavored  to  conceal  as 
well  as  they  could.  Government,  in  this  case,  as  it  was  not 
one  of  political  interest,  did  not  prosecute.  A  powerful  bar 
was  retained  against  Reilly,  but  an  equally  powerful  one  was 
engaged  for  him,  the  leading  lawyer  being,  as  we  have 
stated,  the  celebrated  advocate  Fox,  the  Curran  of  his  day. 

The  charge  against  him  consisted  of  only  two  counts — that 
of  robbing  Squire  Folliard  of  family  jewels  of  immense 
value,  and  that  of  running  away  with  his  daughter,  a  ward 
of  Chancery,  contrary  to  her  consent  and  inclination,  and  to 
the  laws  in  that  case  made  and  provided. 

The  first  witness  produced  was  the  sheriff — and,  indeed, 
to  state  the  truth,  a  very  reluctant  one  was  that  humane 
gentleman  on  the  occasion.  Having  been  sworn,  the  lead- 
ing counsel  proceeded  : 

"  You  are  the  sheriff  of  this  county  ?" 

"  I  am." 

"  Are  you  aware  that  jewellery  to  a  large  amount  was 
stolen  recently  from  Mr.  Folliard  ?" 

"lam  not." 

"  You  are  not  ?  Now,  is  it  not  a  fact,  of  which  you  were 
an  eye-witness,  that  the  jewellery  in  question  was  found 
upon  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  in  Mr.  Folliard' s 
house  ?" 

11  I  must  confess  that  I   saw  him  about  to  be  searched, 


WILLY  REILLY.  391 

and  that  a  very  valuable  case  of  jewellery  was  found  upon  his 
person." 

"  Yes,  found  upon  his  person — a  very  valuable  case  of 
jewellery,  the  property  of  Mr.  Folliard,  found  upon  his  per- 
son ;  m?rk  that,  gentlemen  of  the  jury." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  I  saw  jewellery  found 
upon  him  ;  but  I  cannot  say  en  my  oath  whether  it  be- 
longed to  Mr.  Folliard  or  not  ;  all  I  can  say  is,  that  Mr. 
Folliard  claimed  the  jewels  as  his." 

"  As  his — just  so.  Nobody  had  a  better  right  to  claim 
them  than  the  person  to  whom  they  belonged.  What  took 
place  on  the  occasion  ?" 

11  Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  as  I  said,  claimed  them,  and  Mr. 
Reilly  refused  to  give  them  up  to  him." 

"  You  hear  that,  gentlemen — refused  to  surrender  him  the 
property  of  which  he  had  robbed  him,  even  in  his  own 
house." 

"  And  when  you  searched  the  prisoner  ?" 

"  We  didn't  search  him  ;  he  refused  to  submit  to  a 
search." 

"  Refused  to  submit  to  a  search  !  No  wonder,  I  think  ! 
But,  at  the  time  he  refused  to  submit  to  a  search,  had  he  the 
jewellery  upon  his  person  ?" 

"  He  had." 

"  He  had  ?  You  hear  that,  gentlemen — at  the  time  he 
refused  to  be  searched  he  had  the  jewellery  upon  his  person. ' ' 

The  sheriff  was  then  cross-examined  by  Fox,  to  the  fol- 
lowing effect  : 

"  Mr.  Sheriff,  have  you  been  acquainted,  or  are  you  ac- 
quainted, with  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ?" 

11  Yes  ;  I  have  known  him  for  about  three  years — almost 
ever  since  he  settled  in  this  county." 

"  What  is  your  opinion  of  him  ?" 

"  My  opinion  of  him  is  very  high." 

"  Yes — your  opinion  of  him  is  very  high,"  with  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  the  jury — "  I  believe  it  is,  and  I  believe  it 
ought  to  be.  Now,  upon  your  oath,  do  you  believe  that 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  capable  of  the  theft  or  robbery  im- 
puted to  him  ?" 

"  I  do  not." 

11  You  do  not  ?  What  did  he  say  when  the  jewels  were 
found  upon  him  ?" 


392  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

11  He  refused  to  surrender  them  to  Mr.  Folliard  as  hav- 
ing no  legal  claim  upon  them,  and  refused,  at  first,  to  place 
them  in  any  hands  but  Miss  Folliard's  own  ;  but,  on  under- 
standing that  she  was  not  in  a  state  to  receive  them  from 
him,  he  placed  them  in  mine. ' ' 

"  Then  he  considered  that  they  were  Miss  Folliard's  per- 
sonal property,  and  not  her  father's  ?" 

11  So  it  seemed  to  me  from  what  he  said  at  the  time." 

"  That  will  do,  sir ;  you  may  go  down." 

11  Alexander  Folliard  !"  and  the  father  then  made  his  ap- 
pearance on  the  table  ;  he  looked  about  him,  with  a  restless 
eye,  and  appeared  in  a  state  of  great  agitation,  but  it  was 
the  agitation  of  an  enraged  and  revengeful  man.  He  turned 
his  eyes  upon  Reilly,  and  exclaimed  with  bitterness  : 
"  There  you  are,  Willy  Reilly,  who  have  stained  the  repu- 
tation of  my  child,  and  disgraced  her  family." 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  his  lawyer,  "  you  have  had  in  your 
possession  very  valuable  family  jewels." 

"  I  had." 

"  Whose  property  were  they  ?" 

11  WThy,  mine,  I  should  think." 

"  Could  you  identify  them  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  could." 

"  Are  these  the  jewels  in  question  ?" 

The  old  man  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  examined  them 
closely. 

"  They  are  ;  I  know  every  one  of  them." 

"  They  were  stolen  from  you  ?" 

"  They  were." 

"  On  whose  person,  after  having  been  stolen,  were  thev 
found?" 

"  On  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar." 

"  You  swear  that  ?" 

"  I  do  ;  because  I  saw  him  take  them  out  of  his  pocket  in 
my  own  house  after  he  had  been  made  prisoner  and  de- 
tected." 

"  Then  they  are  your  property  ?" 

"  Certainly — I  consider  them  my  property  ;  who  else's 
property  could  they  be." 

"  Pray,  is  not  your  daughter  a  minor  ?" 

"  She  is." 

11  And  a  ward  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  ?" 


WILLY  REILLY.  393 

"Yes." 

"  That  will  do,  sir." 

The  squire  was  then  about  to  leave  the  table,  when  Mr. 
Fox  addressed  him  : 

11  Not  yet,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  you  please  ;  you  swear  the 
jewels  are  yours  ?" 

11  I  do  ;  to  whom  else  should  they  belong  ?" 

"  Are  you  of  opinion  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  robbed 
you  of  them  ?' ' 

"  I  found  them  in  his  possession." 

11  And  you  now  identify  them  as  the  same  jewels  which 
you  found  in  his  possession  ?" 

"  Hang  it,  haven't  I  said  so  before  ?" 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Folliard,  keep  your  temper,  if'  you  please, 
and  answer  me  civilly  and  as  a  gentleman.  Suffer  me  to  ask 
you  are  there  any  other  family  jewels  in  your  possession  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  Folliard  jewels." 

"  The  Folliard  jewels  !  And  how  do  they  differ  in  de- 
nomination from  those  found  upon  the  prisoner  ?" 

"  Those  found  upon  the  prisoner  are  called  the  Bingham 
jewels,  from  the  fact  of  my  wife,  who  was  a  Bingham,  hav- 
ing brought  them  into  our  family." 

11  And  pray,  did  not  your  wife  always  consider  those 
jewels  as  her  own  private  property  ?" 

M  Why,  I  believe  she  did." 

11  And  did  she  not,  at  her  death -bed,  bequeath  those  very 
jewels  to  her  daughter,  the  present  Miss  Folliard,  on  the 
condition  that  she  too  should  consider  them  as  her  private 
property  ?" 

"  Why,  I  believe  she  did  ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  of  it,  be- 
cause I  was  present  at  the  time." 

11  In  what  part  of  the  house  were  those  jewels  deposited  ?" 

"Ina  large  oak  cabinet  that  stands  in  a  recess  in  my 
library." 

11  Did  you  keep  what  you  call  the  Folliard  jewels  there  ?" 

11  Yes,  all  our  jewellery  was  kept  there." 

11  But  there  was  no  portion  of  the  Folliard  jewellery 
touched  ?" 

11  No  ;  but  the  Bingham  sets  were  all  taken,  and  all  found 
upon  the  prisoner." 

"  What  was  your  opinion  of  the  prisoner's  circumstances  ?" 

11  I  could  form  no  opinion  about  them." 


394  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Had  he  not  the  reputation  of  being  an  independent 
man  ?" 

"  I  believe  such  was  the  impression." 

"  In  what  style  of  life  did  he  live  ?" 

11  Certainly  in  the  style  of  a  gentleman." 

11  Do  you  think,  then,  that  necessity  was  likely  to  tempt 
a  man  of  independence  like  him  to  steal  your  daughter's 
jewels  ?" 

11  I'd  advise  you,  Sergeant  Fox,  not  to  put  me  out  of 
temper  ;  I  haven't  much  to  spare  just  now.  What  the 
deuce  are  you  at  ?" 

11  Will  you  answer  my  question  ?" 

11  No,  I  don't  think  it  was." 

"  If  the  Bingham  jewellery  had  been  stolen  by  a  thief,  do 
you  think  that  thief  would  have  left  the  Folliard  jewellery 
behind  him  ?" 

"  I'll  take  my  oath  you  wouldn't,  if  you  had  been  in  the 
place  of  the  person  that  took  them.  You'd  have  put  the 
Bingham  jewellery  in  one  pocket,  and  balanced  it  with  the 
Folliard  in  the  other.  But,"  he  added,  after  a  slight  pause, 
"  the  villain  stole  from  me  a  jewel  more  valuable  and  dearer 
to  her  father's  heart  than  all  the  jewellery  of  the  universal 
world  put  together.  He  stole  my  child,  my  only  child," 
and  as  he  spoke  the  tears  ran  slowly  down  his  cheeks.  The 
court  and  spectators  were  touched  by  this,  and  Fox  felt  that 
it  was  a  point  against  them.  Even  he  himself  was  touched, 
and  saw  that,  with  respect  to  Reilly's  safety,  the  sooner  he 
got  rid  of  the  old  man,  for  the  present  at  least,  the  better. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  he,  "  you  may  withdraw  now. 
Your  daughter  loved,  as  what  woman  has  not  ?  There 
stands  the  object  of  her  affections,  and  I  appeal  to  your  own 
feelings  whether  any  living  woman  could  be  blamed  for  lov- 
ing such  a  man.     You  may  go  down,  sir,  for  the  present." 

The  prosecuting  counsel  then  said  :  "  My  lord,  we  pro- 
duce Miss  Folliard  herself  to  bear  testimony  against  this 
man.     Crier,  let  Helen  Folliard  be  called." 

Now  was  the  moment  of  intense  and  incredible  interest. 
There  was  the  far-famed  beauty  herself,  to  appear  against 
her  manly  lover.  The  stir  in  the  court,  the  expectation, 
the  anxiety  to  see  her,  the  stretching  of  necks,  the  pressure 
of  one  over  another,  the  fervor  of  curiosity,  was  such  as  the 
reader  rmy  possibly  conceive,  but  such  certainly  as  we  can- 


WILLY  REILLY.  395 

not  attempt  to  describe.  She  advanced  from  a  side  door, 
deeply  veiled  ;  but  the  tall  and  majestic  elegance  of  her  fig- 
tire  not  only  struck  all  hearts  with  admiration,  but  prepared 
them  for  the  inexpressible  beauty  with  which  the  whole 
kingdom  rang.  She  was  assisted  to  the  table,  and  helped 
into  the  witness's  chair  by  her  father,  who  seemed  to  tri- 
umph in  her  appearance  there.  On  taking  her  seat,  the 
buzz  and  murmur  of  the  spectators  became  hushed  into  a 
silence  like  that  of  death,  and,  until  she  spoke,  a  feather 
might  have  been  heard  falling  in  the  court. 

11  Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  judge,  in  a  most  respectful 
voice,  "  you  are  deeply  veiled — but  perhaps  you  are  not 
aware  that,  in  order  to  give  evidence  in  a  court  of  justice, 
your  veil  should  be  up  ;  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  raise 
it?" 

Deliberately  and  slowly  she  raised  it,  as  the  court  had 
desired  her — but,  oh  !  what  an  effulgence  of  beauty,  what 
wonderful  brilliancy,  what  symmetry,  what  radiance,  what 
tenderness,  what  expression  ! 

But  we  feel  that  to  attempt  the  description  cf  that  face, 
which  almost  had  divinity  stamped  upon  it,  is  beyond  all 
our  powers.  The  whole  court,  every  spectator,  man  and 
woman,  all  for  a  time  were  mute,  whilst  their  hearts  drank 
in  the  delicious  draught  of  admiration  which  such  beauty 
created.  After  having  raised  her  veil,  she  looked  around 
the  court  with  a  kind  of  wonder,  after  which  her  eyes  rested 
on  Reilly,  and  immediately  her  lids  dropped,  for  she  feared 
that  she  had  done  wrong  in  looking  upon  him.  This  made 
many  of  those  hearts  who  were  interested  in  his  fate  sink, 
and  wonder  why  such  treachery  should  be  associated  with 
features  that  breathed  only  of  angelic  goodness  and  hu- 
manity. 

11  Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  leading  counsel  engaged 
against  Reilly,  "I  am  happy  to  hear  that  you  regret  some 
past  occurrences  that  took  place  with  respect  to  you  and 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ?" 

11  Yes,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  that  was  melody  itself,  "  I 
do  regret  them." 

Fox  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  her,  after  which  he  whispered 
something  to  one  or  two  of  his  brother  lawyers  ;  they  shook 
their  heads,  and  immediately  set  themselves  to  hear  and 
note  her  examination. 


396  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

"  Miss  Folliard,  you  are  aware  of  the  charges  which  have 
placed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  of  justice  and  his  country  ?" 

11  Not  exactly  ;  I  have  heard  little  of  it  beyond  the  fact 
of  his  incarceration." 

11  He  stands  there  charged  with  two  very  heinous  crimes 
— one  of  them,  the  theft  or  robbery  of  a  valuable  packet  of 
jewels,  your  father's  property." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  "they  are  my  own  exclusive 
property — -not  my  father's.  They  were  the  property  of  my 
dear  mother,  who,  on  her  death-bed,  bequeathed  them  to 
me,  in  the  presence  of  my  father  himself  ;  and  I  always  con- 
sidered them  as  mine. ' ' 

11  But  they  were  found  upon  the  person  of  the  prisoner  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  that  is  very  easily  explained.  It  is  no 
secret  now,  that,  in  order  to  avoid  a  marriage  which  my 
father  was  forcing  on  me  with  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  I 
chose  the  less  evil,  and  committed  myself  to  the  honor  of 
Mr.  Reilly.  If  I  had  not  done  so  I  should  have  committed 
suicide,  I  think,  rather  than  marry  Whitecraft — a  man  so 
utterly  devoid  of  principle  and  delicacy  that  he  sent  an 
abandoned  female  into  my  father's  house  in  the  capacity  of 
my  maid  and  also  as  a  spy  upon  my  conduct." 

This  astounding  fact  created  an  immense  sensation 
throughout  the  court,  and  the  lawyer  who  was  examining 
her  began  to  feel  that  her  object  in  coming  there  was  to  give 
evidence  in  favor  of  Reilly,  and  not  against  him.  He  deter- 
mined, however,  to  try  her  a  little  farther,  and  proceeded  : 

"  But,  Miss  Folliard,  how  do  you  account  for  the  fact  of 
the  Bingham  jewels  being  found  upon  the  person  of  the 
pihoner  ?" 

"  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  she  replied.  "  I 
brought  my  own  jewels  with  me,  and  finding,  as  we  pro- 
ceeded, that  I  was  likely  to  lose  them,  having  no  pocket 
sufficiently  safe  in  which  to  carry  them,  I  asked  Reilly  to 
take  charge  of  them,  which  he  did.  Our  unexpected  cap- 
ture, and  the  consequent  agitation,  prevented  him  from 
returning  them  to  me,  and  they  were  accordingly  found 
upon  his  person  ;  but,  as  for  stealing  them,  he  is  just  as 
guilty  as  his  lordship  on  the  bench." 

"  Miss  Folliard,"  proceeded  the  lawyer,  "  you  have  taken 
us  by  surprise  to-day.  How  does  it  happen  that  you  volun- 
teered your  evidence  against  the  prisoner,   and,   now  that 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  397 

you  have  come  forward,  every  word  you  utter  is  in  his 
favor  ?  Your  mind  must  have  recently  changed — a  fact  which 
takes  very  much  away  from  the  force  of  that  evidence." 

"  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  understand  me,  and  not  suffer  your- 
self to  be  misled.  I  never  stated  that  I  was  about  to  come 
here  to  give  evidence  against  Mr.  Reilly  ;  but  I  said,  when 
strongly  pressed  to  come,  that  I  would  come,  and  see  justice 
done.  Had  they  asked  me  my  meaning,  I  would  have  in- 
stantly told  them  ;  because,  I  trust,  I  am  incapable  of  false- 
hood ;  and  I  will  say  now,  that  if  my  life  could  obtain  that 
of  William  Reilly,  I  would  lay  it  willingly  down  for  him,  as 
I  am  certain  he  would  lay  down  his  for  the  preservation  of 
mine." 

There  was  a  pause  here,  and  a  murmur  of  approbation  ran 
through  the  court.  The  opposing  counsel,  too,  found  that 
they  had  been  led  astray,  and  that  to  examine  her  any  fur- 
ther would  be  only  a  weakening  of  their  own  cause.  They 
attached,  however,  no  blame  of  insincerity  to  her,  but  visit- 
ed with  much  bitterness  the  unexpected  capsize  which  they 
had  got,  on  the  stupid  head  of  Doldrum,  their  attorney. 
They  consequently  determined  to  ask  her  no  more  ques- 
tions, and  she  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  Fox  rose  up, 
and  said  : 

"  Miss  Folliard,  I  am  counsel  for  the  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
and  I  trust  you  will  answer  me  a  few  questions.  I  perceive, 
madam,  that  you  are  fatigued  of  this  scene  ;  but  the  ques- 
tions I  shall  put  to  you  will  be  few  and  brief.  An  attach- 
ment has  existed  for  some  time  between  you  and  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar  ?  You  need  not  be  ashamed,  madam,  to 
reply  to  it." 

"I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  replied  proudly,  "and  it  is 
true." 

11  Was  your  father  aware  of  that  attachment  at  any  time  ?" 

"  He  was,  from  a  very  early  period." 

"  Pray,  how  did  he  discover  it  ?" 

11  I  myself  told  him  of  my  love  for  Reilly." 

"  Did  your  father  give  his  consent  to  that  attachment  ?" 

"  Conditionally  he  did." 

"  And  pray,  Miss  Folliard,  what  were  the  conditions  ?" 

11  That  Reilly  should  abjure  his  creed,  and  then  no  fur- 
ther obstacles  should  stand  in  the  way  of  our  union,  he 
said." 


398  WILLY  REILLY. 

"  Was  ever  that  proposal  mentioned  to  Reilly  ?" 

"Yes,  I  mentioned  it  to  him  myself;  but,  well  as  he 
loved  me,  he  would  suffer  to  go  into  an  early  grave,  he  said, 
sooner  than  abandon  his  religion  ;  and  I  loved  him  a  thou- 
sand times  better  for  his  noble  adherence  to  it." 

"  Did  he  not  save  your  father  s  life  V* 

1 '  He  did,  and  the  life  of  a  faithful  and  attached  old  ser- 
vant at  the  same  time. 

"  Now,  although  this  fact  was  generally  known,  yet  the 
statement  of  it  here  occasioned  a  strong  expression  of  indig- 
nation against  the  man  who  could  come  forward  and  prosecute 
the  individual,  to  whose  courage  and  gallantry  he  stood  in- 
debted for  his  escape  from  murder.  The  uncertainty  of 
Folliard's  character,  however,  was  so  well  known,  and  his 
whimsical  changes  of  opinion  such  a  matter  of  proverb 
among  the  people,  that  many  persons  said  to  each  other  : 

"  The  cracked  old  squire  is  in  one  of  his  tantrums  now  ; 
he'll  be  a  proud  man  if  he  can  convict  Reilly  to-day  ;  and 
perhaps  to-morrow,  or  in  a  month  hence,  he'll  be  cursing 
himself  for  what  he  did — for  that's  his  way." 

"Well,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  Fox,  "we  will  not  detain 
you  any  longer  ;  this  to  you  must  be  a  painful  scene  ;  you 
may  retire,  madam." 

She  did  not  immediately  withdraw,  but  taking  a  green  silk 
purse  out  of  her  bosom,  she  opened  it,  and,  after  inserting 
her  long,  white,  taper  fingers  into  it,  she  brought  out  a  valu- 
able emerald  ring,  and  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  the  crier, 
she  said  : 

"  Give  that  ring  to  the  prisoner  :  I  know  not,  William, ' '  she 
added,  "  whether  I  shall  ever  see  you  again  or  not.  It  may 
so  happen  that  this  is  the  last  time  my  eyes  can  ever  rest 
upon 'you  with  love  and  sorrow."  Here  a  few  bright  tears 
ran  down  her  lovely  cheeks.  "  If  you  should  be  sent  to  a 
far-off  land,  wear  this  for  the  sake  of  her  who  appreciated 
your  virtues,  your  noble  spirit,  and  your  pure  and  disinter- 
ested love  ;  look  upon  it  when,  perhaps,  the  Atlantic  may 
roll  between  us,  and  when  you  do,  think  of  your  Cooleen 
Bawn,  and  the  love  she  bore  you  ;  but  if  a  still  unhappier 
fate  should  be  yours,  let  it  be  placed  with  you  in  your  grave, 
and  next  that  heart,  that  noble  heart,  that  refused  to  sacri- 
fice your  honor  and  your  religion  even  to  your  love  for  me. 
I  will  now  go." 


T1IK   TRIAL. 


WILLY  REILLY.  399 

There  is  nothing  so  brave  and  fearless  as  innocence. 
Her  youth,  the  majesty  of  her  beauty,  and  the  pathos  of  her 
expressions,  absolutely  flooded  the  court  with  tears.  The 
judge  wept,  and  hardened  old  barristers,  with  hearts  like  the 
nether  millstone,  were  forced  to  put  their  handkerchiefs  to 
their  eyes  ;  but  as  they  felt  that  it  might  be  detrimental  to 
their  professional  characters  to  be  caught  weeping,  they 
shaded  off  the  pathos  under  the  hypocritical  pretence  of 
blowing  their  noses.  The  sobs  from  the  ladies  in  the  gal- 
lery were  loud  and  vehement,  and  Reilly  himself  was  so 
deeply  moved  that  he  felt  obliged  to  put  his  face  upon  his 
hands,  as  he  bent  over  the  bar,  in  order  to  conceal  his  emo- 
tion. He  received  the  ring  with  moist  eyes,  kissed  it,  and 
placed  it  in  a  small  locket  which  he  put  in  his  bosom. 
"  Now,"  said  the  Coolcen  Bawn,  "  I  am  ready  to  go." 
She  was  then  conducted  to  the  room  to  which  we  have 
alluded,  where  she  met  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings, 
both  of  whom  she  found  in  tears — for  they  had  been  in  the 
gallery,  and  witnessed  all  that  had  happened.  They  both 
embraced  her  tenderly,  and  attempted  to  console  her  as  well 
as  they  could  ;  but  a  weight  like  death,  she  said,  pressed 
upon  her  heart,  and  she  begged  them  not  to  distract  her  by 
their  sympathy,  kind  and  generous  as  she  felt  it  to  be,  but 
to  allow  her  to  sit,  and  nurture  her  own  thoughts  until  she 
could  hear  the  verdict  of  the  jury.  Mrs.  Hastings  returned 
to  the  gallery,  and  arrived  there  in  time  to  hear  the  touching 
and  brilliant  speech  of  Fox,  which  we  are  not  presumptuous 
enough  to  imagine,  much  less  to  stultify  ourselves  by  attempt- 
ing to  give.  He  dashed  the  charge  of  Reilly's  theft  of  the 
jewels  to  pieces — not  a  difficult  task,  after  the  evidence  that 
had  been  given  ;  and  then  dwelt  upon  the  loves  of  this  cele- 
brated pair  with  such  force  and  eloquence  and  pathos  that 
the  court  was  once  more  melted  into  tears.  The  closing 
speech  by  the  leading  counsel  against  Reilly  was  bitter  ; 
but  the  gist  of  it  turned  upon  the  fact  of  his  having  eloped 
with  a  ward  of  Chancery,  contrary  to  law  ;  and  he  informed 
the  jury  that  no  affection — no  consent  upon  the  part  of  any 
young  lady  under  age  was  either  a  justification  of,  or  a  pro- 
tection against,  such  an  abduction  as  that  of  which  Reilly 
had  been  guilty.  The  state  of  the  law  at  the  present  time, 
he  assured  them,  rendered  it  a  felony  to  marry  a  Catholic 


400  WILL  Y  REILL  Y. 

and  a  Protestant  together  ;  and  he  then  left  the  case  in  the 
hands,  he  said,  of  an  honest  Protestant  jury. 

The  judge's  charge  was  brief.  He  told  the  jury  that  they 
could  not  convict  the  prisoner  on  the  imputed  felony  of  the 
jewels  ;  but  that  the  proof  of  his  having  taken  away  Miss 
Folliard  from  her  father's  house,  with — as  the  law  stood — her 
felonious  abduction,  for  the  purpose  of  inveigling  her  into 
an  unlawful  marriage  with  himself,  was  the  subject  for  their 
consideration.  Even  had  he  been  a  Protestant,  the  law 
could  afford  him  no  protection  in  the  eye  of  the  Court  of 
Chancery. 

The  jury  retired  ;  but  their  absence  from  their  box  was 
very  brief.  Unfortunately,  their  foreman  was  cursed  with  a 
dreadful  hesitation  in  his  speech,  and,  as  he  entered,  the 
Clerk  of  the  Crown  said  : 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict  ?" 

There  was  a  solemn  silence,  during  which  nothing  was 
heard  but  a  convulsive  working  about  the  chest  and  glottis 
of  the  foreman,  who  at  length  said  : 

4 '  We — we — we — we  have. ' ' 

11  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 

Here  the  internal  but  obstructed  machinery  of  the  chest 
and  throat  set  to  work  again,  and  at  last  the  foreman  was 
able  to  get  out — "  Guilty — " 

Mrs.  Hastings  had  heard  enough,  and  too  much  ;  and,  as 
the  sentence  was  pronounced,  she  instantly  withdrew  ;  but 
how  to  convey  the  melancholy  tidings  to  the  Cooleen  Bawn 
she  knew  not.  In  the  meantime  the  foreman,  who  had  not 
fully  delivered  himself  of  the  verdict,  added,  after  two  or 
three  desperate  hiccups — "  on  the  second  count." 

This,  if  the  foreman  had  not  labored  under  such  an  extra- 
ordinary hesitation,  might  have  prevented  much  suffering, 
and  many  years  of  unconscious  calamity  to  one  of  the  un- 
happy parties  of  whom  we  are  writing,  inasmuch  as  the 
felony  of  the  jewels  would  have  been  death,  whilst  the 
elopement  with  a  ward  of  Chancery  was  only  transportation. 

When  Mrs.  Hastings  entered  the  room  where  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  was  awaiting  the  verdict  with  a  dreadful  intensity  of 
feeling,  the  latter  rose  up,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about  her 
neck,  looked  into  her  face,  with  an  expression  of  eagerness 
and  wildness,  which  Mrs.  Hastings  thought  might  be  best 
allayed  by  knowing  the  worst,  as  the  heart,  in  such  circum- 


WILLY  REILLY.  40* 

stances,  generally  collects  itself,  and  falls  back  upon  its  own 
resources. 


Well,  Mrs.  Hastings,  well — the  verdict 


"  Collect  yourself,  my  child — be  firm — be  a  woman. 
Collect  yourself — for  you  will  require  it.  The  verdict — 
Guilty  !" 

The  Cooleen  Bawn  did  not  faint — nor  become  weak — but 
she  put  her  fair  white  hand  to  her  forehead — then  looked 
around  the  room,  then  upon  Mrs.  Brown,  and  lastly  upon 
Mrs.  Hastings.  They  also  looked  upon  her.  God  help 
both  her  and  them  !  Yes,  they  looked  upon  her  counte- 
nance— that  lovely  countenance — and  then  into  her  eyes — ■ 
those  eyes  !  But,  alas  !  where  was  their  beauty  now  ? 
Where  their  expression  ? 

11  Miss  Folliard  !  my  darling  Helen  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Hastings,  in  tears — "  great  God,  what  is  this,  Mrs.  Brown  ? 
Come  here  and  look  at  her." 

Mrs.  Brown,  on  looking  at  her,  whispered,  in  choking 
accents,  "  Oh  !  my  God,  the  child's  reason  is  overturned  ; 
what  is  there  now  in  those  once  glorious  eyes  but  vacancy  ? 
Oh,  that  I  had  never  lived  to  see  this  awful  day  !  Helen, 
the  treasure,  the  delight  of  all  who  ever  knew  you,  what  is 
wrong  ?  Oh,  speak  to  us — recognize  us — your  own  two 
best  friends — Helen — Helen  !  speak  to  us." 

She  looked  upon  them  certainly  ;  but  it  was  with  a  dead 
and  vacant  stare  which  wrung  their  hearts. 

"Come,"  said  she,  "tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ? 
Oh,  bring  me  to  William  Reilly  ;  they  have  taken  me  from 
him,  and  I  know  not  where  to  find  him." 

The  two  kind-hearted  ladies  looked  at  one  another,  each 
stupefied  by  the  mystery  of  what  they  witnessed. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  her  father  must  be  instantly 
sent  for.  Mrs.  Brown,  go  to  the  lobby — there  is  an  offi- 
cer there — desire  him  to  go  to  Mr.  Folliard  and  say  that — but 
we  had  better  not  alarm  him  too  much,"  she  added,  "  say 
that  Miss  Folliard  wishes  to  see  him  immediately." 

The  judge,  we  may  observe  here,  had  not  yet  pronounced 
sentence  upon  Reilly.  The  old  man,  who,  under  all  possi- 
ble circumstances,  was  so  affectionately  devoted  and  atten- 
tive to  his  daughter,  immediately  proceeded  to  the  room,  in 
a  state  of  great  triumph  and  exultation,  exclaiming, 
11  Guilty,  guilty  ;    we  have  noosed  him  at    last."     He 


402  WILLY  REILLY. 

even  snapped  his  fingers,  and  danced  about  for  a  time,  until 
rebuked  by  Mrs.  Hastings. 

11  Unhappy  and  miserable  old  man,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
tears,  "  what  have  you  done  ?  Look  at  the  condition  of 
your  only  child,  whom  you  have  murdered.  She  is  now  a 
maniac." 

"What,"  he  exclaimed,  rushing  to  her,  "what,  what  is 
tins  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Helen,  my  darling,  my  child 
— my  delight — what  is  wrong  with  you  ?  Recollect  your- 
self, my  dearest  treasure.  Do  you  not  know  me,  your  own 
father  ?  Oh,  Helen,  Helen  !  for  the  love  of  God  speak  to 
me  ?  Say  you  know  me — call  me  father — rouse  yourself — 
recollect  me — don't  you  know  who  I  am  ?" 

There,  however,  was  the  frightfully  vacant  glance,  but  no 
reply. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  calm  voice,  "  where  is  William 
Reilly  ?  They  have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find 
him  ;  bring  me  to  William  Reilly." 

11  Don't  you  know  me,  Helen  ?  don't  you  know  your  lov- 
ing father  ?  Oh,  speak  to  me,  child  of  my  heart  !  speak  but 
one  word  as  a  proof  that  you  know  me." 

She  looked  on  him,  but  that  look  filled  his  heart  with  un- 
utterable anguish  ;  he  clasped  her  to  that  heart,  he  kissed 
her  lips,  he  strove  to  soothe  and  console  her — but  in  vain. 
There  was  the  vacant  but  unsettled  eye,  from  which  the 
bright  expression  of  reason  was  gone  ;  but  no  recognition — 
no  spark  of  reflection  or  conscious  thought — nothing  but 
the  melancholy  inquiry  from  those  beautiful  lips  of — 
"  Where's  William  Reilly  ?  They  have  taken  me  from  him 
— and  will  not  allow  me  to  see  him.  Oh,  bring  me  to  Wil- 
liam Reilly!" 

11  Oh,  wretched  fate  f"  exclaimed  her  distracted  father, 
11  I  am — I  am  a  murderer,  and  faithful  Connor  was  right — 
Mrs.  Brown — Mrs.  Hastings — hear  me,  both — I  was  warned 
of  this,  but  I  would  not  listen  either  to  reason  or  remon- 
strance, and  now  I  am  punished,  as  Connor  predicted. 
Great  heaven,  what  a  fate  both  for  her  and  me — for  her  the 
innocent,  and  for  me  the  guilty  !" 

_  It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  the  father's  misery  and 
distraction  ;  but,  from  all  our  readers  have  learned  of  his 
extraordinary  tenderness  and  affection  for  that  good  and 
lovely  daughter,  they  may  judge  of  what  he  suffered.     He 


WILLY  REILLY.  403 

immediately  ordered  his  carriage,  and  had  barely  time  to 
hear  that  Reilly  had  been  sentenced  to  transportation  for 
seven  years.  His  daughter  was  quite  meek  and  tractable  ; 
she  spoke  not,  nor  could  any  ingenuity  on  their  part  extract 
the  slightest  reply  from  her.  Neither  did  she  shed  a  single 
tear,  but  the  vacant  light  of  her  eyes  had  stamped  a  fatui- 
tous  expression  on  her  features  that  was  melancholy  and 
heartbreaking  beyond  all  power  of  language  to  describe. 

No  other  person  had  seen  her  since  the  bereavement  of 
her  reason,  except  the  officer  who  kept  guard  on  the  lobby, 
and  who,  in  the  hurry  and  distraction  of  the  moment,  had 
been  dispatched  by  Mrs.  Brown  for  a  glass  of  cold  water. 
Her  father's  ravings,  however,  in  the  man's  presence,  added 
to  his  own  observation,  and  the  distress  of  her  female 
friends  were  quite  sufficient  to  satisfy  him  of  the  nature  of 
her  complaint,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  it  was  through 
the  whole  court-house,  and  the  town  besides,  that  the  Coo- 
leen  Baw?i  had  gone  mad  on  hearing  the  sentence  that  was 
passed  upon  her  lover.  Her  two  friends  accompanied  her 
home,  and  remained  with  her  for  the  night. 

Such  was  the  melancholy  conclusion  of  the  trial  of  Willy 
Reilly  ;  but  even  taking  it  at  its  worst,  it  involved  a  very 
different  fate  from  that  of  his  vindictive  rival,  Whitecraft. 
It  appeared  that  that  worthy  gentleman  and  the  Red  Rap- 
paree  had  been  sentenced  to  die  on  the  same  day,  and  at  the 
same  hour.  It  is  true,  Whitecraft  was  aware  that  a  deputa- 
tion had  gone  post-haste  to  Dublin  Castle  to  solicit  his  par- 
don, or  at  least  some  lenient  commutation  of  punishment. 
Still,  it  was  feared  that,  owing  to  the  dreadful  state  of  the 
roads,  and  the  slow  mode  of  travelling  at  that  period,  there 
was  a  probability  that  the  pardon  might  not  arrive  in  time 
to  be  available  ;  and  indeed  there  was  every  reason  to  ap- 
prehend as  much.  The  day  appointed  for  the  execution  of 
the  Red  Rapparee  and  him  arrived — nay,  the  very  hour  had 
come  ;  but  still  there  was  hope  among  his  friends.  The 
sheriff,  a  firm,  but  fair  and  reasonable  man,  waited  beyond 
the  time  named  by  the  judge  for  his  execution.  At  length 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  discharging  his  duty  ;  for,  although 
more  than  an  hour  beyond  the  appointed  period  had  now 
elapsed,  yet  this  delay  proceeded  from  no  personal  regard 
he  entertained  for  the  felon,  but  from  respect  for  many  of 
those  who  had  interested  themselves  in  his  fate. 


40|  WILL  V  REII.L  Y. 

After  an  unusual  delay  the  sheriff  felt  himself  called  upon 
to  order  both  the  Rapparee  and  the  baronet  for  execution. 
In  waiting  so  long  for  a  pardon,  he  felt  that  he  had  trans- 
gressed his  duty,  and  he  accordingly  ordered  them  out  for 
the  last  ceremony.  The  hardened  Rapparee  died  sullen 
and  silent  ;  the  only  regret  he  expressed  being  that  he  could 
not  live  to  see  his  old  friend  turned  off  before  him. 

"Troth,"  replied  the  hangman,  "only  that  the  sheriff 
has  ordhered  me  to  hang  your  first  as  bein'  the  betther  man, 
I  would  give  you  that  same  satisfaction  ;  but  if  you're  not 
in  a  very  great  hurry  to  the  warm  corner  you're  goin'  to, 
and  if  you  will  just  take  your  time  for  a  few  minutes,  I'll 
engage  to  say  you  will  soon  have  company.  God  speed 
you,  any  way,"  he  exclaimed  as  he  turned  him  off  ;  "  only 
take  your  time,  and  wait  for  your  neighbors.  Now,  Sir 
Robert,"  said  he,  "  turn  about,  they  say,  is  fair  play — it's 
your  turn  now  ;  but  you  look  unbecomin'  upon  it.  Hould 
up  your  head,  man,  and  don't  be  cast  down.  You'll  have 
company  where  you're  goin'  ;  for  the  Red  Rapparee  tould 
me  to  tell  you  that  he'd  wait  for  you.  Hallo  ! — what's 
that  ?"  he  exclaimed  as  he  cast  his  eye  to  the  distance  and 
discovered  a  horseman  riding  for  life,  with  a  white  handker- 
chief, or  flag  of  some  kind,  floating  in  the  breeze.  The  ele- 
vated position  in  which  the  executioner  was  placed  enabled 
him  to  see  the  signal  before  it  could  be  perceived  by  the 
crowd.  "  Come,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  stand  where  I'll 
place  you — there's  no  use  in  asking  you  to  hould  up  your 
head,  for  you're  not  able  ;  but  listen.  You  hanged  my  bro- 
ther that  you  knew  to  be  innocent  ;  and  now  I  hang  you 
that  I  know  to  be  guilty.  Yes,  I  hang  you,  with  the  white 
flag  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  pardon  for  you  wavin'  in  the 
distance;  and  listen  again,  remember  Willy  Reilly  ;"  and 
with  these  words  he  launched  him  into  eternity. 

The  uproar  among  his  friends  was  immense,  as  was  the 
cheering  from  the  general  crowd,  at  the  just  fate  of  this  bad 
man.  The  former  rushed  to  the  gallows,  in  order  to  cut 
him  down,  with  a  hope  that  life  might  still  be  in  him,  a  pro- 
cess which  the  sheriff,  after  perusing  his  pardon,  permitted 
them  to  carry  into  effect.  The  body  was  accordingly  taken 
into  the  prison,  and  a  surgeon  procured  to  examine  it  ;  but 
altogether  in  vain  ;  his  hour  had  gone  by,  life  was  extinct, 
and  all  the  honor  they  could  now  pay  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 


WILLY  REILLY.  405 

was  to  give  him.  a  pompous  funeral,  and  declare  him  a  mar- 
tyr to  Popery — both  of  which  they  did. 

On  the  day  previous  to  Reilly's  departure  his  humble 
friend  and  namesake,  Fergus,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of 
Reilly  himself,  was  permitted  to  pay  him  a  last  melancholy 
visit.  After  his  sentence,  as  well  as  before  it,  every  atten- 
tion had  been  paid  to  him  by  O'Shaughnessy,  the  jailer, 
who,  although  an  avowed  Protestant,  and  a  brand  plucked 
from  the  burning,  was,  nevertheless,  a  lurking  Cathoilc  at 
heart,  and  felt  a  corresponding  sympathy  with  his  prisoner. 
When  Fergus  entered  his  cell  he  found  him  neither  fettered 
nor  manacled,  but  perfectly  in  the  enjoyment  at  least  of 
bodily  freedom.  It  is  impossible,  indeed,  to  say  how  far 
the  influence  of  money  may  have  gone  in  securing  him  the 
comforts  which  surrounded  him,  and  the  attentions  which 
he  received.  On  entering  his  cell,  Fergus  was  struck  by 
the  calm  and  composed  air  with  which  he  received  him. 
His  face,  it  is  true,  was  paler  than  usual,  but  a  feeling  of 
indignant  pride,  if  not  of  fixed  but  stern  indignation,  might 
be  read  under  the  composure  into  which  he  forced  himself, 
and  which  he  endeavored  to  suppress.  He  approached 
Fergus,  and  extending  his  hand  with  a  peculiar  smile,  very 
difficult  to  be  described,  said  : 

1 '  Fergus,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  ;  I  hope  you  are  safe — at 
least  1  have  heard  so." 

"  I  am  safe,  sir,  and  free,"  replied  Fergus  ;  "  thanks  to 
the  Red  Rapparee  and  the  sheriff  for  it." 

11  Well,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "  you  have  one  comfort — the 
Red  Rapparee  will  neither  tempt  you  nor  trouble  you  again  ; 
but  is  there  no  danger  of  his  gang  taking  up  his  quarrel  and 
avenging  him  ?" 

"His  gang,  sir?  Why,  only  for  me  he  would  a'  be- 
trayed every  man  of  them  to  Whiteraft  and  the  Government, 
and  had  them  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered — ay,  and  their 
heads  grinning  at  us  in  every  town  in  the  county." 

"  Well,  Fergus,  let  his  name  and  his  crimes  perish  with 
him  ;  but,  as  for  you,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

11  Troth,  sir,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it's  more  than  I  rightly 
know.  I  had  my  hopes,  like  others  ;  but,  somehow,  luck 
has  left  all  sorts  of  lovers  of  late — from  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  to  your  humble  servant." 


40 6  WILLY  J? LILLY. 

"  But  you  may  thank  God,"  said  Reilly,  with  a  smile, 
"  that  you  had  not  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  luck." 

"  Faith,  sir,"  replied  Fergus  archly,  "  there's  a  pair  of 
us  may  do  so.  You  went  nearer  his  luck — such  as  it  was — 
than  1  did." 

"True  enough,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  serious  air; 
"  I  had  certainly  a  narrow  escape  ;  but  I  wish  to  know,  as  I 
said,  what  you  intend  to  do  ?  It  is  your  duty  now,  Fergus, 
to  settle  industriously  and  honestly." 

"  Ah,  sir,  honestly.  I  didn't  expect  that  from  you,  Mr. 
Reilly." 

"  Excuse  me,  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  taking  him  by  the 
hand  ;  when  I  said  honestly  I  did  not  mean  to  intimate 
any  thing  whatsoever  against  your  integrity.  I  know,  unfor- 
tunately, the  harsh  circumstances  which  drove  you  to  asso- 
ciate with  that  remorseless  villain  and  his  gang  ;  but  I  wish 
you  to  resume  an  industrious  life,  and,  if  Ellen  Connor  is 
disposed  to  unite  her  faith  with  yours,  I  have  provided  the 
means — ample  means  for  you  both  to  be  comfortable  and 
happy.  She  who  was  so  faithful  to  her  mistress  will  not  fail 
to  make  you  a  good  wife." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it's  I  that  knows  that  well  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  I  have  no  hope  there." 

"  No  hope  ;  how  is  that  ?  I  thought  your  affection  was 
mutual." 

"  So  it  is,  sir — or,  rather,  so  it  was  ;  but  she  has  affection 
for  nobody  now,  barring  the  Cooleen  Bawn." 

Reilly  paused,  and  appeared  deeply  moved  by  this. 
"  What,"  said  he,  "will  she  not  leave  her  ?  But  I  am  not 
surprised  at  it." 

"  No,  sir,  she  will  not  leave  her,  but  has  taken  an  oath  to 
stay  by  her  night  and  day,  until — better  times  come." 

We  may  say  here  that  Reilly's  friends  took  care  that 
neither  jailer  nor  turnkey  should  make  him  acquainted  with 
the  unhappy  state  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn ;  he  was  conse- 
quently ignorant  of  it,  and,  fortunately,  remained  so  until 
after  his  return  home. 

"  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "  can  you  tell  me  how  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  bears  the  sentence  which  sends  me  to  a  far  country  ?" 

"  How  would  she  bear  it,  sir  ?  You  needn't  ask  :  Con- 
nor, at  all  events,  will  not  part  from  her — not,  anyway,  un- 
til you  come  back." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  407 

"Well,  Fergus,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "I  have,  as  I  said, 
provided  for  you  both  ;  what  that  provision  is  I  will  not 
mention  now.  Mr.  Hastings  will  inform  you.  But  if  you 
have  a  wish  to  leave  this  unhappy  and  distracted  country, 
even  without  Connor,  why,  by  applying  to  him,  you  will  be 
enabled  to  do  so  ;  or,  if  you  wish  to  stay  at  home  and  take 
a  farm,  you  may  do  so." 

"  Divil  a  foot  I'll  leave  the  country,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Ellen  may  stick  to  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  but,  be  my  sowl, 
I'll  stick  to  Ellen,  if  I  was  to  wait  these  seven  years.  I'll 
be  as  stiff  as  she  is  stout  ;  but,  at  any  rate,  she's  worth  wait- 
in'  for." 

"  You  may  well  say  so,"  replied  Reilly,  "  and  I  can  quar- 
rel neither  with  your  attachment  nor  your  patience  ;  but  you 
will  not  forget  to  let  her  know  the  provision  which  I  have 
left  for  her  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hastings,  and  tell  her  it  is  a 
slight  reward  for  her  noble  attachment  to  my  dear  Cooleen 
Bawn.  Fergus,"  he  proceeded,  "have  you  ever  had  a 
dream  in  the  middle  of  which  you  awoke,  then  fell  asleep 
and  dreamt  out  the  dream  ?" 

11  Troth  had  I,  often,  sir  ;  and,  by  the  way,  talkin'  of 
dreams,  I  dreamt  last  night  that  I  was  wantin'  Ellen  to  marry 
me,  and  she  said,  '  not  yet,  Fergus,  but  in  due  time.'  " 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  proceeded  Reilly,  "  perhaps  there  is  but 
half  my  dream  of  life  gone  ;  who  knows  when  I  return — if 
I  ever  do — but  irfy  dream  may  be  completed  ?  and  happily, 
too  ;  I  know  the  truth  and  faith  of  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawn. 
And,  Fergus,  it  is  not  merely  my  dear  Cooleen  Bawn  that  I 
feel  for,  but  for  my  unfortunate  country.  I  am  not,  how- 
ever, without  hope  that  the  day  will  come — although  it  may 
be  a  distant  one — when  she  will  enjoy  freedom,  peace,  and 
prosperity.  Now,  Fergus,  good-by,  and  farewell  !  Come, 
come,  be  a  man,"  he  added,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  whilst 
a  tear  stood  even  in  his  own  eye — "  corne,  Fergus,  I  will 
not  have  this  ;  I  won't  say  farewell  for  ever,  because  I  ex- 
pect to  return  and  be  happy  yet — if  not  in  my  own  country, 
at  least  in  some  other,  where  there  is  more  freedom  and 
less  persecution  for  conscience'  sake." 

Poor  Fergus,  however,  when  the  parting  moment  arrived, 
was  completely  overcome.  He  caught  Reilly  in  his  arms — 
wept  over  him  bitterly — and,  after  a  last  and  sorrowful  em- 
brace, was  prevailed  upon  to  take  his  leave. 


4oS  WILLY  REILLY. 

The  history  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn's  melancholy  fate  soon 
went  far  and  near,  and  many  an  eye  that  had  never  rested 
on  her  beauty  gave  its  tribute  of  tears  to  her  undeserved 
sorrows.  There  existed,  however,  one  individual  who  was 
the  object  of  almost  as  deep  a  compassion  ;  this  was  her 
father,  who  was  consumed  by  the  bitterest  and  most  pro- 
found remorse.  His  whole  character  became  changed  by 
his  terrible  and  unexpected  shock,  by  which  his  beautiful 
and  angelic  daughter  had  been  blasted  before  his  eyes.  He 
was  no  longer  the  boisterous  and  convivial  old  squire, 
changeful  and  unsettled  in  all  his  opinions,  but  silent,  quiet, 
and  abstracted  almost  from  life. 

He  wept  incessantly,  but  his  tears  did  not  bring  him  com- 
fort, for  they  were  tears  of  anguish  and  despair.  Ten  times 
a  day  he  would  proceed  to  her  chamber,  or  follow  her  to  the 
garden  where  she  loved  to  walk,  always  in  the  delusive  hope 
that  he  might  catch  some  spark  of  returning  reason  from 
those  calm-looking  but  meaningless  eyes,  after  which  he 
would  weep  like  a  child.  With  respect  to  his  daughter, 
every  thing  was  done  for  her  that  wealth  and  human  means 
could  accomplish,  but  to  no  purpose  ;  the  malady  was  too 
deeply  seated  to  be  effected  by  any  known  remedy,  whether 
moral  or  physical.  From  the  moment  she  was  struck  into 
insanity  she  was  never  known  to  smile,  or  to  speak,  unless 
when  she  chanced  to  see  a  stranger,  upon  which  she  im- 
mediatey  approached,  and  asked,  with  clasped  hands  : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  Oh  !  can 
you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?" 

There  was,  however,  another  individual  upon  whose  heart 
the  calamity  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn  fell  like  a  blight  that 
seemed  to  have  struck  it  into  such  misery  and  sorrow  as 
threatened  to  end  only  with  life.  This  was  the  faithful  and 
attached  Ellen  Connor.  On  the  day  of  Reilly's  trial  she 
experienced  the  alternations  of  hope,  uncertainty,  and  de- 
spair, with  such  a  depth  of  anxious  feeling,  and  such  fever- 
ish excitement,  that  the  period  of  time  which  elapsed  ap- 
peared to  her  as  if  it  would  never  come  to  an  end.  She 
could  neither  sit,  nor  stand,  nor  work,  nor  read,  nor  take 
her  meals,  nor  scarcely  think  with  any  consistency  or  clear- 
ness of  thought.  We  have  mentioned  hope — but  it  was  the 
faintest  and  the  feeblest  element  in  that  chaos  of  distress 


WILLY  RRILLY.  409 

and  confusion  which  filled  and  distracted  her  mind.  She 
knew  the  state  and  condition  of  the  country  too  well — she 
knew  the  powerful  influence  of  Mr.  Folliard  in  his  native 
county — she  knew  what  the  consequences  to  Reilly  must  be 
of  taking  away  a  Protestant  heiress  ;  the  fact  was  there — 
plain,  distinct,  and  incontrovertible,  and  she  knew  that  no 
chance  of  impunity  or  acquittal  remained  for  any  one  of  his 
creed  guilty  of  such  a  violation  of  the  laws — we  say,  she 
knew  all  this — but  it  was  not  of  the  fate  of  Reilly  she 
thought.  The  girl  was  an  acute  observer,  and  both  a  close 
and  clear  thinker.  She  had  remarked  in  the  Cooleen  Bawn, 
on  several  occasions,  small  gushes,  as  it  were,  of  unsettled 
thought,  and  of  temporary  wildness,  almost  approaching  to 
insanity.  She  knew,  besides,  that  insanity  was  in  the  fam- 
ily on  her  father's  side  ;  *  and,  as  she  had  so  boldly  and 
firmly  stated  to  that  father  himself,  she  dreaded  the  result 
which  Reilly' s  conviction  might  produce  upon  a  mind  with 
such  a  tendency,  worn  down  and  depressed  as  it  had  been 
by  all  she  had  suffered,  and  more  especially  what  she  must 
feel  by  the  tumult  and  agitation  of  that  dreadful  day. 

It  was  about  two  hours  after  dark  when  she  was  startled 
by  the  noise  of  the  carriage-wheels  as  they  came  up  the  ave- 
nue. Her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would  burst,  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  head,  and  she  became  too  giddy  to  stand  or  walk  ; 
then  it  seemed  to  rush  back  to  her  heart,  and  she  was  seized 
with  thick  breathing  and  feebleness  ;  but  at  length,  strength- 
ened by  the  very  intensity  of  the  interest  she  felt,  she  made 
her  way  to  the  lower  steps  of  the  hall  door  in  time  to  be 
present  when  the  carriage  arrived  at  it.  She  determined, 
however,  wrought  up  as  she  was  to  the  highest  state  of  ex- 
citement, to  await,  to  watch,  to  listen.  She  did  so.  The 
carriage  stopped  at  the  usual  place,  the  coachman  came 
down  and  opened  the  door,  and  Mr.  Folliard  came  out. 
After  him,  assisted  by  Mrs.  Brown,  came  Helen,  who  was 
immediately  conducted  in  between  the  latter  and  her  father. 
In  the  meantime  poor  Ellen  could  only  look  on.  She  was 
incapable  of  asking  a  single  question,  but  she  followed  them 
up  to  the  drawing-room  where  they  conducted  her  mistress. 
When  she  was  about  to  enter,  Mrs.  Brown  said  : 

*  The  reader  must  take  this  as  the  necessary  material  for  our  fiction. 
There  never  was  insanity  in  Helen's  family  ;  and  we  make  this  note 
to  prevent  them  from  taking  unnecessary  offence. 


4io  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

11  Ellen,  you  had  better  not  come  in  ;  your  mistress  is  un- 
well." 

Mrs.  Hastings  then  approached,  and,  with  a  good  deal  of 
judgment  and  consideration,  said  : 

"  I  think  it  is  better,  Mrs.  Brown,  that  Ellen  should  see 
her,  or,  rather,  that  she  should  see  Ellen.  Who  can  tell 
how  beneficial  the  effect  may  be  on  her  ?  We  all  know  how 
she  was  attached  to  Ellen." 

In  addition  to  those  fearful  intimations,  Ellen  heard  in- 
side the  sobs  and  groans  of  her  distracted  father,  mingled 
with  caresses  and  such  tender  and  affectionate  language  as, 
she  knew  by  the  words,  could  only  be  addressed  to  a  person 
incapable  of  understanding  them.  Mrs.  Brown  held  the 
door  partially  closed,  but  the  faithful  girl  would  not  be 
repulsed.     She  pushed  in,  exclaiming  : 

"  Stand  back,  Mrs.  Brown,  I  must  see  my  mistress  ! — if 
she  is  my  mistress,  or  anybody's  mistress  now" — and  ac- 
cordingly she  approached  the  settee  on  which  the  Cooleen 
Bawn  sat.  The  old  squire  was  wringing  his  hands,  sob- 
bing, and  giving  vent  to  the  most  uncontrollable  sorrow. 

"Oh,  Ellen,"  said  he,  "pity  and  forgive  me.  Your 
mistress  is  gone,  gone  ! — she  knows  nobody  !" 

"  Stand  aside,"  she  replied  ;  "  stand  aside  all  of  you  ;  let 
vie  to  her. ' ' 

She  knelt  beside  the  settee,  looked  distractedly,  but 
keenly,  at  her  for  about  half  a  minute — but  there  she  sat, 
calm,  pale,  and  unconscious.  At  length  she  turned  her  eyes 
upon  Ellen — for  ever  since  the  girl's  entrance  she  had  been 
gazing  on  vacancy — and  immediately  said  : 

'*.  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  Oh  !  will 
you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?" 

Ellen  gave  two  or  three  rapid  sobs  ;  but,  by  a  powerful 
effort,  she  somewhat  composed  herself. 

11  Miss  Folliard,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice,  however, 
11  darling  Miss  Folliard — my  beloved  mistress — Cooleen 
Bawn — oh,  do  you  not  know  me — me,  your  own  faithful 
Ellen,  that  loved  you — and  that  loves  you  so  well — ay,  be- 
yond father  and  mother,  and  all  others  living  in  this  un- 
happy world  ?  Oh,  speak  to  me,  dear  mistress — speak  to 
your  own  faithful  Ellen,  and  only  say  that  you  know  me,  or 
only  look  upon  me  as  if  you  did." 


WILLY  REILLY.  41 * 

Not  a  glance,  however,  of  recognition  followed  those  lov- 
ing solicitations  ;  but  there,  before  them  all,  she  sat,  with 
the  pale  face,  the  sorrowful  brow,  and  the  vacant  look. 
Ellen  addressed  her  with  equal  tenderness  again  and  again, 
but  with  the  same  melancholy  effect.  The  fact  was  beyond 
question — reason  had  departed  ;  the  fair  temple  was  there, 
but  the  light  of  the  divinity  that  had  been  enshrined  in  it 
was  no  longer  visible  ;  it  seemed  to  have  been  abandoned 
probably  for  ever.  Ellen  now  finding  that  every  effort  to 
restore  her  to  rational  consciousness  was  ineffectual,  rose 
up,  and,  looking  about  for  a  moment,  her  eyes  rested  upon 
her  father. 

"  Oh,  Ellen  !"  he  exclaimed,  M  spare  me,  spare  me — you 
know  I'm  in  your  power.  I  neglected  your  honest  and 
friendly  warning,  and  now  it  is  too  late." 

11  Poor  man  !"  she  replied,  "  it  is  not  she,  but  you,  that  is 
to  be  pitied.  No  ;  after  this  miserable  sight,  never  shall 
my  lips  breathe  one  syllable  of  censure  against  you.  Your 
punishment  is  too  dreadful  for  that.  But  when  I  look 
upon  her — look  upon  her  now — oh,  my  God  !  what  is 
this?"— 

11  Help  the  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  quickly,  and  with 
alarm.  "Oh,  she  has  fallen — raise  her  up,  Mr.  Folliard. 
Oh,  my  God,  Mrs.   Hastings,  what  a  scene  is  this  !" 

They  immediately  opened  her  stays,  and  conveyed  her  to 
another  settee,  where  she  lay  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  in  a  calm  and  tranquil  insensibility.  With  the  aid  of 
the  usual  remedies,  however,  she  was,  but  with  some  diffi- 
culty, restored,  after  which  she  burst  into  tears,  and  wept 
for  some  time  bitterly.  At  length  she  recovered  a  certain 
degree  of  composure,  and,  after  settling  her  dress  and  luxu- 
riant brown  hair,  aided  by  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings, 
she  arose,  and  once  more  approaching  her  lovely,  but  uncon- 
scious, mistress,  knelt  down,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  looked 
up  to  heaven,  whilst  she  said  : 

"  Here,  I  take  the  Almighty  God  to  witness,  that  from  this 
moment  out  I  renounce  father  and  mother,  brother  and  sis- 
ter, friend  and  relative,  man  and  woman,  and  will  abide  by 
my  dear  unhappy  Cooleen  Baivn — that  blighted  flower  before 
us — both  by  day  and  by  night — through  all  seasons — through 
all  places  wherever  she  may  go,  or  be  brought,  until  it  may 
please  God  to  restore   her  to   reason,  or  until  death  may 


412  WILLY  REILLY. 

close  her  sufferings,  should  I  live  so  long,  and  have  health 
and  strength  to  carry  out  this  solemn  oath  ;  so  may  God 
hear  me,  and  assist  me  in  my  intention." 

She  then  rose,  and,  putting  her  arms  around  the  fair  girl, 
kissed  her  lips,  and  poured  forth  a  copious  flood  of  tears 
into  her  bosom. 

"  I  am  yours  now,"  she  said,  caressing  her  mournfully  : 
"  I  am  yours  now,  my  ever  darling  mistress  ;  and  from  this 
hour  forth  nothing  but  death  will  ever  separate  your  own 
Connor  from  you." 

Well  and  faithfully  did  she  keep  that  generous  and  heroic 
oath.  Ever,  for  many  a  long  and  hopeless  year,  was  she  to 
be  found,  both  night  and  day,  by  the  side  of  that  beautiful 
but  melancholy  sufferer.  No  other  hand  ever  dressed  or 
undressed  her  ;  no  other  individual  ever  attended  to  her 
wants,  or  complied  with  those  little  fitful  changes  and  ca- 
prices to  which  persons  of  her  unhappy  class  are  subject. 
The  consequence  of  this  tender  and  devoted  attachment  was 
singular,  but  not  by  any  means  incompatible,  we  think, 
even  with  her  situation.  If  Connor,  for  instance,  was  any 
short  time  absent,  and  another  person  supplied  her  place, 
the  Cooleen  Bawn,  in  whose  noble  and  loving  heart  the 
strong  instincts  of  affection  could  never  die,  uniformly  ap- 
peared dissatisfied  and  uneasy,  and  looked  around  her,  as  if 
for  some  object  that  would  afford  her  pleasure.  On  Ellen's 
reappearance  a  faint  but  placid  smile  would  shed  its  fee- 
ble light  over  her  countenance,  and  she  would  appear  calm 
and  contented  ;  but,  during  all  this  time,  word  uttered  she 
none,  with  the  exception  of  those  to  which  we  have  already 
alluded. 

These  were  the  only  words  she  was  known  to  utter,  and 
no  stranger  ever  came  in  her  way  to  whom  she  did  not 
repeat  them.  In  this  way  her  father,  her  maid,  and  herself 
passed  through  a  melancholy  existence  for  better  than  six 
years,  when  a  young  physician  of  great  promise  happened  to 
settle  in  the  town  of  Sligo,  and  her  father  having  heard  of  it 
had  him  immediately  called  in.  After  looking  at  her,  how- 
ever, he  found  himself  accosted  in  the  same  terms  we  have 
already  given  : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?" 

"William  Reilly  will  soon  be  with  you,"  he  replied; 
"  he  will  soon  be  here." 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  413 

A  start — barely,  scarcely  perceptible,  was  noticed  by  the 
keen  eye  of  the  physician  ;  but  it  passed  away,  and  left  no- 
thing but  that  fixed  and  beautiful  vacancy  behind  it. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  physician,  "  I  do  not  absolutely  despair 
of  Miss  Folliard' s  recovery  :  the  influence  of  some  deep  ex- 
citement, if  it  could  be  made  accessible,  might  produce  a 
good  effect  ;  it  was  by  a  shock  it  came  upon  her,  and  I  am 
of  opinion  that  if  she  ever  does  recover  it  will  be  by  some- 
thing similar  to  that  which  induced  her  pitiable  malady." 

11  I  will  give  a  thousand  pounds — five  thousand — ten 
thousand,  to  any  man  who  will  be  fortunate  enough  to 
restore  her  to  reason,"  said  her  father. 

"  One  course,"  proceeded  the  physician,  "  I  would 
recommend  you  to  pursue  ;  bring  her  about  as  much  as  you 
can  ;  give  her  variety  of  scenery  and  variety  of  new  faces  ; 
visit  your  friends,  and  bring  her  with  you.  This  course 
may  have  some  effect  ;  as  for  medicine,  it  is  of  no  use  here, 
for  her  health  is  in  every  other  respect  good." 

He  then  took  his  leave,  having  first  received  a  fee  which 
somewhat  astonished  him. 

His  advice,  however,  was  followed  ;  her -father  and  she, 
and  Connor,  during  the  summer  and  autumn  months,  visit- 
ed among  their  acquaintances  and  friends,  by  whom  they 
were  treated  with  the  greatest  and  most  considerate  kind- 
ness ;  but,  so  far  as  poor  Helen  was  concerned,  no  symp- 
tom of  any  salutary  change  became  visible  ;  the  long,  dull 
blank  of  departed  reason  was  still  unbroken. 


Better  than  seven  years  and  a  half  had  now  elapsed,  when 
she  and  her  father  came  by  invitation  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  Mr. 
Hamilton,  grandfather  to  the  late  Dacre  Hamilton  of  Mona- 
ghan,  who — the  grandfather  we  mean — was  one  of  the  most 
notorious  priest-hunters  of  his  day.  We  need  not  say  that 
her  faithful  Connor  was  still  in  attendance.  Old  Folliard 
went  riding  out  with  his  friend,  for  he  was  now  so  much  de- 
bilitated as  to  be  scarcely  able  to  walk  abroad  for  any  dis- 
tance, when,  about  the  hour  of  two  o'clock,  a  man  in  the 
garb,  and  with  all  the  bearing  of  a  perfect  gentleman, 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  inquired  of  the  servant  who 
opened  it  whether  Miss  Folliard  were  not  there.     The  ser- 


o 


4J4  WILLY  REILLY. 

vant  replied  in   the  affirmative,   upon  which  the   stranger 
asked  if  he  could  see  her. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  you  must  be  aware,  sir,  of  Miss 
Folliard's  unfortunate  state  of  mind,  and  that  she  can  see 
nobody  ;  sir,  she  knows  nobody,  and  I  have  strict  orders  to 
deny  her  to  every  one  unless  some  particular  friend  of  the 
family." 

The  stranger  put  a  guinea  into  his  hand,  and  added,  "  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her  before  she  lost  her  reason, 
and  as  I  have  not  seen  her  since,  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
her  now,  or  even  to  look  on  her  for  a  few  minutes." 

11  Come  up,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  and  enter  the  draw- 
ing-room immediately  after  me,  or  I  shall  be  ordered  to 
deny  her." 

The  gentleman  followed  him  ;  but  why  did  his  cheek  be- 
come pale,  and  why  did  his  heart  palpitate  as  if  it  would 
burst_  and  bound  out  of  his  bosom  ?  We  shall  see.  On 
entering  the  drawing-room  he  bowed,  and  was  about  to 
apologize  for  his  intrusion,  when  the  Cooleen  Bawn%  recoj 
nizing  him  as  a  stranger,  approached  him  and  said  : 

"  Oh  !  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ?  They 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him."  Oh,  can 
you  tell  me  any  thing  about  William  Reilly  ?" 

The  stranger  staggered  at  this  miserable  sight,  but  proba- 
bly more  at  the  contemplation  of  that  love  which  not  even 
insanity  could  subdue.  He  felt  himself  obliged  to  lean  for 
support  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  during  which  brief  space 
he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  with  a  look  of  the  most  inexpres- 
sible tenderness  and  sorrow. 

"  Oh  !"  she  repeated,  "  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William 
Reilly?" 

"  Alas  !  Helen,"  said  he,  "lam  William  Reilly." 

"You!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  no,  the  wide,  wide  At- 
lantic is  between  him  and  me." 

"It  was  between  us,  Helen,  but  it  is  not  now  ;  I  am  here 
in  life  before  you — your  own  William  Reilly,  that  William 
Reilly  whom  you  loved  so  well,  but  so  fatally.  I  am  he  : 
do  you  not  know  me  ?" 

"You  are  not  William  Reilly,"  she  replied;  "if  you 
were,  you  would  have  a  token." 

"Do  you  forget  that?"  he  replied,  placing  in  her  hand 
the  emerald  ring  she  had  given  him  at  the  trial.     She  started 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  415 

on  looking  at  it,  and  a  feeble  flash  was  observed  to  proceed 
from  her  eyes. 

"This  might  come  to  you,"  she  said,  "by  Reilly's 
death  ;  yes,  this  might  come  to  you  in  that  way  ;  but  there 
is  another  token  which  is  known  to  none  but  himself  and 
me. ' ' 

"Whisper,"  said  he,  and  as  he  spoke  he  applied  his 
mouth  to  her  ear,  and  breathed  the  token  into  it.  She 
stood  back,  her  eyes  flashed,  her  beautiful  bosom  heaved  ; 
she  advanced,  looked  once  more,  and  exclaimed,  with  a 
scream,  "  It  is  he  !  it  is  he  !"  and  the  next  moment  she  was 
insensible  in  his  arms.  Long  but  precious  was  that  insensi- 
bility, and  precious  were  the  tears  which  his  eyes  rained 
down  upon  that  pale  but  lovely  countenance.  She  was 
soon  placed  upon  a  settee,  but  Reilly  knelt  beside  her,  and 
held  one  of  her  hands  in  his.  After  a  long  trance  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  again  started.  Reilly  pressed  her  hand 
and  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Helen,  I  am  with  you  at  last." 

She  smiled  on  him  and  said,  "  Help  me  to  sit  up,  until  I 
look  about  me,  that  I  may  be  certain  this  is  not  a  dream." 

She  then  looked  about  her,  and  as  the  ladies  of  the  family 
spoke  tenderly  to  her,  and  caressed  her,  she  fixed  her  eyes 
once  more  upon  her  lover,  and  said,  "It  is  not  a  dream 
then  ;  this  is  a  reality  ;  but,  alas  !  Reilly,  I  tremble  to  think 
lest  they  should  take  you  from  me  again." 

"  You  need  entertain  no  such  apprehension,  my  dear 
Helen,"  said  the  lady  of  the  mansion.  "  I  have  often  heard 
your  father  say  that  he  would  give  twenty  thousand  pounds 
to  have  you  well,  and  Reilly's  wife.  In  fact,  you  have 
nothing  to  fear  in  that,  or  any  other  quarter.  But  there's 
his  knock  ;  he  and  my  husband  have  returned,  and  I  must 
break  this  blessed  news  to  him  by  degrees,  lest  it  might  be 
too  much  for  him  if  communicated  without  due  and  proper 
caution." 

She  accordingly  went  down  to  the  hall,  where  they  were 
hanging  up  their  great  coats  and  hats,  and  brought  them  into 
her  husband's  study. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  she  with  a  cheerful  face,  "  I  think, 
from  some  symptoms  of  improvement  noticed  to-day  in 
Helen,  that  we  needn't  be  without  hope. 

"  Alas,  alas  !"  exclaimed  the  poor  father,  "  I  have  no 
hope  ;  after  such  a  length  of  time  I  am  indeed  without  a 


4l6  WILLY  REILLY. 

shadow  of  expectation.  If  unfortunate  Reilly  were  here, 
indeed  her  seeing  him,  as  that  Sligo  doctor  told  me,  might 
give  her  a  chance.  He  saw  her  about  a  week  before  we 
came  down,  and  those  were  his  words.  But  as  for  Reilly, 
even  if  he  were  in  the  country,  how  could  I  look  him  in  the 
face  ?  What  wouldn't  I  give  now  that  he  were  here,  that 
Helen  was  well,  and  that  one  word  of  mine  could  make 
them  man  and  wife  ?" 

"Well,  well,"  she  replied,  "don't  be  cast  down;  per- 
haps I  could  tell  you  good  news  if  I  wished." 

"  You're  beating  about  the  bush,  Mary,  at  all  events,"  said 
her  husband,  laughing. 

"  Perhaps,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  she  continued,  "  I  could 
introduce  a  young  lady  who  is  so  fond  of  you,  old  and  ugly 
as  you  are,  that  she  would  not  hesitate  to  kiss  you  tenderly, 
and  cry  with  delight  on  your  bosom,  you  old  thief." 

They  both  started  at  her  words  with  amazement,  and  her 
husband  said  :  "  Egad,  Alick,  Helen's  malady  seems  catch- 
ing. What  the  deuce  do  you  mean,  Molly  ?  or  must  I,  too, 
send  for  a  doctor  ?" 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you  to  the  lady,  though  ?"  she  pro- 
ceeded, addressing  the  father  ;  "  but  remember  that,  if  I 
do,  you  must  be  a  man,  Mr.  Folliard  I" 

14  In  God's  name  !  do  what  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton, "  but  do  it  at  once. 

She  went  upstairs,  and  said,  "As  I  do  not  wTish  to  bring 
your  father  up,  Helen,  until  he  is  prepared  for  a  meeting 
with  Mr.  Reilly,  I  will  bring  you  down  to  him.  The  sight 
of  you  noiv  will  give  him  new  life." 

11  Oh,  come,  then,"  said  Helen,  "  bring  me  to  my  father  ; 
do  not  lose  a  moment,  not  a  moment  ! — oh,  let  me  see  him 
instantly  !" 

The  poor  old  man  suspected  something.  "For  a  thou- 
sand !"  said  he,  "  this  is  some  good  news  about  Helen  !" 

"  Make  your  mind  up  for  that,"  replied  his  friend  ;  "  as 
sure  as  you  live  it  is  ;  and  if  it  be,  bear  it  stoutly." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Hamilton  entered 
the  room  with  Helen,  now  awakened  to  perfect  reason,  smil- 
ing, and  leaning  upon  her  arm.  "  Oh,  dear  papa  !"  she 
exclaimed,  meeting  him,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  and  resting 
her  head  on  his  bosom. 

"  What,  my  darling  ! — my  darling  !     And  you  know  papa 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  417 

once  more  ! — you  know  him  again,  my  darling  Helen  ! 
Oh,  thanks  be  to  God  for  this  happy  day  !"  And  he  kissed 
her  lips,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  wept  over  her 
with  ecstasy  and  delight.  It  was  a  tender  and  tearful  em- 
brace. 

11  Oh,  papa  !"  said  she,  "  I  fear  I  have  caused  you  much 
pain  and  sorrow  :  something  has  been  wrong,  but  I  am  well 
now  that  he  is  here.  I  felt  the  tones  of  his  voice  in  my 
heart." 

11  Who,  darling,  who  ?" 

"  Reilly,  papa." 

"  Hamilton,  bring  him  down  instantly  ;  but  oh,  Helen, 
darling,  how  will  I  see  him  ? — how  can  I  see  him  ?  but  he 
must  come,  and  we  must  all  be  happy.     Bring  him  down." 

"  You  know,  papa,  that  Reilly  is  generosity  itself." 

11  He  is,  he  is,  Helen,  and  how  could  I  blame  you  for 
loving  him  ?" 

Reilly  soon  entered  ;  but  the  old  man,  already  overpow- 
ered by  what  had  just  occurred,  was  not  able  to  speak  to 
him  for  some  time.  He  clasped  and  pressed  his  hand,  how- 
ever, and  at  length  said  : 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  Now,"  he  added,  after  he  had 
recovered  himself,  "  now  that  I  have  both  together,  I  will 
not  allow  one  minute  to  pass  until  I  give  you  both  my  bless- 
ing ;  and  in  due  time,  when  Helen  gets  strong,  and  when  I 
get  a  little  stouter,  you  shall  be  married  ;  the  parson  and 
the  priest  will  make  you  both  happy.  Reilly,  can  you  for- 
give me  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive  you,  sir,"  replied  Reilly  ; 
11  whatever  you  did  proceeded  from  your  excessive  affection 
for  your  daughter  ;  I  am  more  than  overpaid  for  any  thing  I 
may  have  suffered  myself  ;  had  it  been  ages  of  misery,  this 
one  moment  would  cancel  the  memory  of  it  for  ever." 

11  I  cannot  give  you  my  estate,  Reilly,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  for  that  is  entailed,  and  goes  to  the  next  male  issue  ;  but  I 
can  give  you  fifty  thousand  pounds  with  my  girl,  and  that  will 
keep  you  both  comfortable  for  life." 

11  I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  and  for  the  sake  of 
your  daughter  I  will  not  reject  it  ;  but  I  am  myself  in  inde- 
pendent circumstances,  and  could,  even  without  your  gen- 
erosity, support  Helen  in  a  rank  of  life  not  unsuitable  to  her 
condition." 


41 3  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

It  is  well  known  that,  during  the  period  in  which  the  inci- 
dents of  our  story  took  place,  no  man  claiming  the  charac- 
ter of  a  gentleman  ever  travelled  without  his  own  servant  to 
attend  him.  After  Reilly's  return  to  his  native  place,  his 
first  inquiries,  as  might  be  expected,  were  after  his  Coolecn 
Bawn  ;  and  his  next,  after  those  who  had  been  in  some  de- 
gree connected  with  those  painful  circumstances  in  which  he 
had  been  involved  previous  to  his  trial  and  conviction.  He 
found  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Hastings  much  in  the  same  state 
in  which  he  left  them.  The  latter,  who  had  been  entrusted 
with  all  his  personal  and  other  property,  under  certain  con- 
ditions, that  depended  upon  his  return  after  the  term  of  his 
sentence  should  have  expired,  now  restored  to  him,  and 
again  reinstated  him  on  the  original  terms  into  all  his  landed 
and  other  property,  together  with  such  sums  as  had  accrued 
from  it  during  his  absence,  so  that  he  now  found  himself  a 
wealthy  man.  Next  to  Cooleen  Bawn,  however,  one  of  his 
first  inquiries  was  after  Fergus  Reilly,  whom  he  found  domi- 
ciled with  a  neighboring  middleman  as  a  head  servant,  or 
kind  of  under  steward.  We  need  not  describe  the  delight 
of  Fergus  on  once  more  meeting  his  beloved  relative  at  per- 
fect liberty,  and  free  from  all  danger  in  his  native  land. 

"Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "I  understand  you  are  still  a 
bachelor — how  does  that  come  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Fergus,  "  now  that  you  know  every 
thing  about  the  unhappy  state  of  the  Cooleen  Bawn,  surely 
you  can't  blame  poor  Ellen  for  not  desartin'  her.  As  for 
me  I  cared  nothing  about  any  other  girl,  and  I  never  could 
let  either  my  own  dhrame,  or  what  you  said  was  yours,  out 
o'  my  head.  I  still  had  hope,  and  I  still  have,  that  she  may 
recover." 

Reilly  made  no  reply  to  this,  for  he  feared  to  entertain 
the  vague  expectation  to  which  Fergus  alluded. 

"Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  "although  I  have  undergone 
the  sentence  of  a  convict,  yet  now,  after  my  return,  I  am  a 
rich  man.  For  the  sake  of  old  times — of  old  dangers  and 
old  difficulties — I  should  wish  you  to  live  with  me,  and  to 
attend  me  as  my  own  personal  servant  or  man.  I  shall  get 
you  a  suit  of  livery,  and  the  crest  of  O'Reilly  shall  be  upon 
it.  I  wish  you  to  attend  upon  me,  Fergus,  because  you 
understand  me,  and  because  I  never  will  enjoy  a  happy 
heart,  or  one  day's  freedom  from  sorrow  again.     All  hope 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  419 

of  that  is  past,  but  you  will  be  useful  to  me — and  that  you 
know." 

Fergus  was  deeply  affected  at  these  words,  although  hev 
was  gratified  in  the  highest  degree  at  the  proposal.  In  the 
course  of  a  few  days  he  entered  upon  his  duties,  immedi- 
ately after  which  Reilly  set  out  on  his  journey  to  Mona- 
ghan,  to  see  once  more  his  beloved,  but  unhappy,  Cooleen 
Bawn.  On  arriving  at  that  handsome  and  hospitable  town,  he 
put  up  at  an  excellent  inn,  called  the  ' '  Westenra  Arms, ' '  kept 
by  a  man  who  was  the  model  of  innkeepers,  known  by  the 
soubriquet  of  "  honest  Peter  M'  Philips.  "  We  need  not  now 
recapitulate  that  with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquaint- 
ed ;  but  we  cannot  omit  describing  a  brief  interview  which 
took  place  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  after  the  restoration 
of  the  Cooleen  Bawn  to  the  perfect  use  of  her  reason,  be- 
tween two  individuals,  who,  we  think,  have  some  claim  upon 
the  good-will  and  good  wishes  of  our  readers.  We  allude 
to  Fergus  Reilly  and  the  faithful  Ellen  Connor.  Seated  in 
a  comfortable  room  in  the  aforesaid  inn — now  a  respectable 
and  admirably  kept  hotel — with  the  same  arms  over  the 
door,  were  the  two  individuals  alluded  to.  Before  them 
stood  a  black  bottle  of  a  certain  fragrant  liquor,  as  clear  and 
colorless  as  water  from  the  purest  spring,  and,  to  judge  of  it 
by  the  eye,  quite  as  harmless  ;  but  there  was  the  mistake. 
Never  was  hypocrisy  better  exemplified  than  by  the  contents 
of  that  bottle.  The  liquor  in  question  came,  Fergus  was 
informed,  from  the  green  woods  of  Truagh,  and  more 
especially  from  a  townland  named  Derrygola,  famous,  be- 
sides, for  stout  men  and  pretty  girls. 

"  Well,  now,  Ellen  darlin',"  said  Fergus,  "if  ever  any 
two  bachelors  *  were  entitled  to  drink  their  own  healths, 
surely  you  and  I  are.  Here's  to  us — a  happy  marriage, 
soon  and  sudden.  As  for  myself,  I've  had  the  patience 
of  a  Trojan." 

Helen  pledged  him  beautifully  with  her  eyes,  but  very 
moderately  with  the  liquor. 

"  Bedad  !"  he  proceeded,  "  seven  years — ay,  and  a  half 
— wasn't  a  bad  apprenticeship,  at  any  rate  ;  but,  as  I  tould 
Mr.  Reilly  before  he  left  the  country — upon  my  sowl,  says 

*  "  Bachelor,"  in  Ireland,  especially  in  the  country  parts  of  it, 
where  English  is  not  spoken  correctly,  is  frequently  applied  to  both 
the  sexes. 


420  WILLY  RE  ILLY. 

I,  Mr.  Reilly,  she's  worth  waitin'  for  ;  and  he  admitted 
it." 

"  But,  Fergus,  did  ever  any  thing  turn  out  so  happy  for 
all  parties  ?  To  me  it's  like  a  dream  ;  I  can  scarcely  be- 
lieve it." 

11  Faith,  and  if  it  be  a  dhrame,  I  hope  it's  one  we'll  never 
waken  from.  And  so  the  four  of  us  are  to  be  married  on 
the  same  day,  and  we're  all  to  live  with  the  squire." 

1 '  We  are,  Fergus  ;  the  Cooleen  Bawn  will  have  it  so  ;  but, 
indeed,  her  father  is  as  anxious  for  it  almost  as  she  is. 
Ah,  no,  Fergus,  she  could  not  part  with  her  faithful  Ellen, 
as  she  calls  me  ;  nor,  after  all,  Fergus,  would  her  faithful 
Ellen  wish  to  part  with  her  ?" 

"And  he's  to  make  me  steward  ;  begad,  and  if  I  don't 
make  a  good  one,  I'll  make  an  honest  one.  Faith,  at  all 
events,  Ellen,  we'll  be  in  a  condition  to  provide  for  the 
childre',  plaise  God." 

Ellen  gave  him  a  blushing  look  of  reproach',  and  desired 
him  to  keep  a  proper  tongue  in  his  head. 

11  But  what  will  we  do  with  the  five  hundred,  Ellen,  that 
the  squire  and  Mr.  Reilly  made  up  between  them  ?" 

"  We'll  consult  Mr.  Reilly  about  it,"  she  replied,  "  and 
no  doubt  but  he'll  enable  us  to  lay  it  out  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. Now,  Fergus  dear,  I  must  go,"  she  added;  "you 
know  she  can't  bear  me  even  now  to  be  any  length  of  time 
away  from  her.  Here's  God  bless  them  both,  and  continue 
them  in  the  happiness  they  now  enjoy." 

"  Amen,"  replied  Fergus,  "  and  here's  God  bless  our- 
selves, and  make  us  more  lovin'  to  one  another  every  day 
we  rise  ;  and  here's  to  take  a  foretaste  of  it  now,  you  thief." 

Some  slight  resistance,  followed  by  certain  smacking 
sounds,  closed  the  interview  ;  for  Ellen,  having  started  to 
her  feet,  threw  on  her  cloak  and  bonnet,  and  hurried  out  of 
the  room,  giving  back,  however,  a  laughing  look  at  Fergus 
as  she  escaped. 

In  a  few  months  afterwards  they  were  married,  and  lived 
with  the  old  man  until  he  became  a  grandfather  to  two  chil- 
dren, the  eldest  a  boy,  and  the  second  a  girl.  Upon  the 
same  day  of  their  marriage  their  humble  but  faithful  friends 
were  also  united  ;  so  that  there  was  a  double  wedding. 
The  ceremony,  in  the  case  of  Reilly  and  his  Cooleen  Bawn, 
was  performed  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Brown  first,  and  the 


WILLY  RE  ILLY.  42 1 

parish  priest  afterwards  ;  Mrs.  Strong,  who  had  been  for 
several  years  conjoined  to  Mrs.  Smellpriest,  having  been 
rejected  by  both  parties  as  the  officiating  clergyman  upon 
the  occasion,  although  the  lovely  bride  was  certainly  his 
parishioner.  Age  and  time,  however,  told  upon  the  old 
man  ;  and  at  the  expiration  of  three  years  they  laid  him, 
with  many  tears,  in  the  grave  of  his  fathers.  Soon  after 
this  Reilly  and  his  wife,  accompanied  by  Fergus  and  Ellen 
— for  the  Cooleen  Bawn  would  not  be  separated  from  the 
latter — removed  to  the  Continent,  where  they  had  a  numer- 
ous family,  principally  of  sons  ;  and  we  need  not  tell  our 
learned  readers,  at  least,  that  those  young  men  distinguished 
not  only  themselves,  but  their  name,  by  acts  of  the  most 
brilliant  courage  in  continental  warfare.  And  so,  gentle 
reader,  ends  the  troubled  history  of  Willy  Reilly  and  his 
own  Cooleen  Bawn. 


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